


The Sum of Our Parts

by ToAStranger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Humor, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity Gems, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 161,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shit hits the fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: After

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be added as necessary-- or warnings will be included per chapter for specific content. 
> 
> Chapters will be uploaded every fortnight-- so every other Friday-- until complete. 
> 
> It is marked as general because this particular story will focus on the aftermath of Civil War as well as the build up to the battle with big, bad, and purple. While Steve and Bucky's relationship is evident and important, it is not the main focus. 
> 
> Both Bucky and Steve's relationship with Tony-- the building, healing, and growing-- is incredibly important.

After is as after always is: devastating. 

It is never a pretty thing: after.  It’s lonely.  It’s hard.  Because when it is _after_ , it is after _everything_ , and there is nothing easy about climbing up out of the dirt and debris when the dust has finally settled. 

The months that pass are slow ones.  After the fighting, after the rage, after getting his head back to someplace that wasn’t a red kind of wrath that burned in him every time he took a breath, Tony Stark decided to turn his focus elsewhere than _after_.  He’d taken steps to ensure Rhodey was on the downhill path to recovery, tried to assuage the new restlessness in their resident sentient robot, and buried himself in work.  Once Rhodey was able to cope on his own, able to walk when he needed to and had the tech specially built and constructed by Tony to aid him when he couldn’t, Tony sent him home to spend some time with his mother Roberta. 

At first Tony had done it believing it would be good for his friend to be around family.  Roberta had always been a supporting and loving mother.  She’d happily welcomed Tony with open arms whenever he had needed it.  She was a good woman, and Tony knew that Rhodey would be in good hands while he mended.

But it wasn’t the only reason Tony sent Rhodey away.  It had been more than that, and it had had a lot to do with the same reasons he began avoiding Vision whenever he could reasonably get away with it. 

They were reminders of his mistakes.  Ones that pained him to see, that haunted him in persistent nightmares, that he would rather avoid during his waking hours. 

Most of his time was spent in the labs just beneath floor level.  He spent days buried in his work, only surfacing when FRIDAY became concerned enough about his health to threaten to make a few specific calls or when Vision came seeking him out when not in prolonged meditative states. 

It was approximately thirty-six hours into one of these particular modes when FRIDAY announced—or attempted to—that a visitor had landed on the front lawn.  Tony, covered in engine grease and buried beneath the carriage of his newest pet project, couldn’t hear her over the music he was blasting in the sleek buds he’d put in his ears four hours previous when FRIDAY had tried to chide him for his caffeine intake.  It was some guitar heavy rift that Tony would’ve rightly identified as “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution” by AC/DC if he’d been paying it more mind than what the beat was and the way it kept his hands steady.  It was so loud that Tony was unable to hear FRIDAY, so loud that Tony was unaware that he was no longer the only person in his lab, until fingers wrapped around his ankle and _pulled_. 

With a shout akin to a yelp, Tony was jerked out from under the black frame and rather terrifying looking engine he’d been tinkering with for weeks.  He quickly swiped his protective goggles off, already reaching to activate his suit on the gauntlet around his wrist, when he blinked past the surprise in order to register the God standing above him, Vision hovering just behind a broad shoulder.

“Point Break,” Tony greeted with a huff, tugging his earbuds out as he pushed to his feet.  “Nice to have you back.”

“Tony,” Thor nodded with a solemn air, even as his brows pinched in confusion.  “I was unable to locate any of the other Avengers aside from the Vision upon my arrival.  He led me here.”

 “Right, yeah.” Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, face twisting for an instant before he turned away to pad toward one of his work tables.  “FRIDAY remind me to program better alert systems in you.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony—“

“How’s the homestead?” Tony asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Thor hovered with a certain uncertainty, and he did not miss the small frown that Vision directed his way.  “All good up in god land?  The All-Daddy still… All-Daddying?”

It earned him a grimace on Thor’s part; a grave one that had something twisting in Tony’s gut.  “I am afraid I return with harrowing news.”

“Do tell.”

“I believe it would be easier if I announced this to everyone all at once,” Thor said, hammer still clutched in hand, still smelling a bit like ozone from his travel between realms.  “Where are the rest of the Avengers?”

Something in Tony’s left cheek twitched.  He looked back to the holographic schematics for a moment, and rubbed a hand in a slow circle around the center of his chest.  Though in his last doctor visit Tony was given a clean bill of health, his ribs still ached in frustratingly familiar ways around his sternum.  Clearing his throat, he finally turned about to face them.

“Absent,” he said with a smile and a shrug.  “Why don’t you tell me how bad it is?  Apocalyptic?  World ending?”

Thor’s frown only deepened.  “ _Universe_ ending.”

Tony blinked once.  Twice.

“Oh.”

Thor shifted his weight, lips pressed thin.

“Well, I guess I should make some calls.”


	2. Chapter 1: Can You Hear Me Knocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans in motion. 
> 
> Wakanda is hot and muggy.

“Yes, I understand.” Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, phone pressed to one ear.  “Yes, I know how late it is.  No, I—Well, figure it out.  I want the paperwork through on this as soon as possible.”

There was a swift knock on his door before it clicked open.  He didn’t look before holding up a single finger, eyes distant as he stared out the vast window overlooking the New York skyline.  The sun had long since set and the city was lit up like a mocking reflection of the night sky. 

“The sooner the paperwork is through, the sooner we can defend the claims,” he said, tone increasingly terse.  “ _Yes_ , I am _certain_.  I can handle the legal backlash.  Just do it.”

With perhaps a bit more aggression than necessarily, Tony slapped the phone back into its cradle before slumping back in his chair with a heavy sigh.  The entirety of his week had been a headache.  First, he’d had to explain to Thor what exactly had occurred during his time away, carefully editing out a few of the more personal pieces of information until the god had understood exactly the kind of conflict he had managed to miss while dealing with one of his own back on Asgard—the likes of which Tony had no plans on properly fathoming. 

All he knew, after having sat down with two hefty steins of beer to discuss the nuances of both their respective skirmishes, was that Thor was more than utterly exasperated with his Midgardian brothers in arms—“I leave you all alone for a year, and this is what you do.  Honestly.”— and that Thor’s brother was still an asshole but one that would ultimately be aiding them against something so big and bad that it would require a little bit more than hard work and luck to overcome.

It did not help that his days since had been filled with the kind of political games and gambles that he’d thought he’d given up on years previous.  Politics always made him feel dirty.

Someone cleared their throat softly, and Tony glanced over at his visitor with a degree of exasperation that instantly vanished upon seeing who stood in his office.

“Pep,” he greeted, voice tight.

“The three floors above the lobby have been successfully altered, and the flags have been ordered.”  Pepper said, her smile some mix of amusement and concern.  “Are you going to tell me why we’re converting the ground floors into a gaudy mockery of the--?”

“Ah, ah,” Tony shook his head.  “That would be telling.”

“Tony,” she chided.

“Listen, you promised you would take care of it no questions asked as long as I handled all of the paperwork behind it.”  Tony raised his hands in defense.  “This is me handling it.”

Pepper sighed, going soft around the eyes with worry as she stepped further into his office.  “Are you sure you’re not getting in over your head?”

“When am I not?”

“Tony.”

Licking his lips, Tony pushed to his feet, adjusting his tie with his restless hands.  “Pep, I have bad ideas all the time.  They frequently work out just fine.  Trust me that this is one of them.”

“I do trust you,” Pepper said, with a quiet earnestness that made Tony still as she set her clipboard down on the desktop in order to stride around it and adjust the knot at the hollow of his throat.  “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

He swallowed hard once, hands coming up to hers and resting there for a moment.  Pepper smiled down at him, faltering only when he pulled her hands away from his tie before releasing them.  His fingers trembled when he dropped his own hands to his sides. 

“I don’t either.  That’s why I have you.” Tony said.

Pepper seemed to waver before nodding.  “Did you file the claims?”

“They’re processing now.  I’m trying to expedite them, but you know how slow those things can be.”

“I do,” she said with an air of irritation that made Tony grin, in turn coaxing another small smile out of her before she glanced down at the delicate silver watch around her wrist.  “Are you ready for the meeting?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s head to the conference room,” Pepper muttered, already falling back into business mode, plucking up her clipboard as she paced back around the desk, Tony in tow.  “The others should already be present.”

"Sounds like a party." 

* * *

 

Wakanda, on the whole, was much stickier than Steve was anticipating.  In hindsight it was foolish of him to expect any less; the dense and misty jungle should have given it away on sight.  He supposed he had other things to be thinking about at the time.  Thankfully, whoever dealt with climate control in the building they'd been put up in knew a few things about a life of comfort.   He made a mental note to thank them if he ever got the chance.

The people of Wakanda were almost unnervingly patient with him; with all of them.  They never asked questions when the answers weren't obviously necessary, they never pushed for anything.  Steve wasn't stupid enough to think all the citizens of the infamously isolationist nation enjoyed their company.  Clearly the favour of a king was a powerful thing indeed.

The rooms that they had been given were spacious, but sparsely furnished.  Minimalist, Sam had said upon his arrival.  Steve had noticed how close they all were almost immediately.  Sam in the room directly connecting to his own, Barton and Lang across the hall, Wanda at the end.  It set some of the ache in his chest at ease, to know he had people he could trust nearby. 

It didn't take Steve long to settle in to the new space, though he made little effort to adorn to the room he'd been given, but if you looked hard enough there was a smattering of life around it.  A stack of beaten up journals that were not his own lay side by side in an otherwise bare bookshelf; his suit was left hanging, lifeless, on a hook in the closet.

More than once, Steve had woken with a start and reached for the shield beside his bed only to find himself clutching at empty air.  His jaw twitched on nights like those, and he took a moment to suppress his growing anger at Stark, for landing them in this shit pile to begin with, and at himself for landing his friends, the people he most loved, in this situation along with him.

Steve supposed he should have known from the beginning that this wouldn’t turn out well. The path of most resistance rarely did.

He moved on.  He kept going, day by day, even when he just wanted everything to stop.

He ran with Sam every morning, just like they used to.  The familiar routine of it was enough to distract from the din of a foreign place, of unfamiliar voices and faces.  It was a good for the both of them.

This particular morning, the fog that hung over their new home was especially heavy, parting around them as they ran in great cloudy zephyrs.  The forest was abnormally loud that day, although Steve had gotten used to it quickly.  DC traffic and cicadas were remarkably similar if you didn’t pay much attention.

Steve’s lips twitched up just a little, speeding up for a moment, shoulder brushing at Sam’s as he passed.  “On your left.”

Sam’s resulting squawk of protest was absolutely worth the amount of flack Steve would no doubt cop over breakfast.

“I thought we agreed to play nice, Rogers.” Sam said, slowing to a halt, breathless and a little achy.

Steve shrugged, head ducking a little, as if it might make him look smaller.  “We did.  But I had to once. For old times’ sake.”

Sam rolled his eyes and slapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder a couple times as they headed back inside.

The breakfast table was as occupied, as it usually was at this time in the morning, by a mess of cereal and reheated leftovers.  Sam moved away from Steve’s peripheral, leaving a quiet mumble about getting a cup of coffee.

Wanda trailed in from the other side of the room, expression peaceful in ways Steve didn’t quite understand, obviously fresh from her morning meditation she'd begun with T'Challa.  She was draped in the loose fashions he had grown accustom to seeing on other Wakandans, and she looked rather radiant in hues of red and orange.  Like a flame or the first light of day.

“Good morning,” she said, a soft smile affecting her expression. 

Steve returned the look, watching as she settled herself down at the table.

“T’Challa sends his regards.” She said after a moment of quiet, looking up from the cup of tea she had steeping in front of her.  “He won’t be able to see us today.  Something came up with an industrialist.  I didn’t ask for the details, it’s not my business.”

Steve’s expression pulled down a little, but he wasn’t surprised.  “He’s a busy man.  Can’t blame him for that.”

Silence fell over them again for a moment, broken only by the sound of cutlery on ceramic, and the coffee pot whistling away in the corner.

“You want a cup, Steve?”  Sam asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

“No.  No, it’s fine.  I’ll get something later.  I’ve got something to take care of.”  Steve replied, thankful that no one pushed for any further information.  He didn’t wait for a goodbye.

His passing was only interrupted when he came through their living area, finding Scott curled up on the couch, a phone pressed to his ear.  He glanced up when he heard Steve approach, but made no effort to stall his conversation.

“--I know, peanut.  I’ll be home as soon as I can.  I promise.” There was a pause, and Scott pulled a pained face.  “No, peanut, I’m not in trouble with Paxton again.  I just had to go help some friends with something.”

Steve swallowed, offered Scott a half smile and moved on, pretending that he didn’t feel a great guilty hole bore its way through him.

He huffed out a little sigh as he passed through to the medical station they had access to, offering the technician at the front desk a little smile as he passed.  They knew him so well now, none of them bothered to ask what he was doing down there.

The door to the cryo lab whirred open seamlessly, and Steve tried his best to keep his expression neutral, even if there was no one around to really see him.  He knew the technician could see him from her desk, but he also knew she was polite enough not ask when he let his fingers brush at the glass that separated Bucky from the world.

Steve had regretted not trying harder to talk him out of going back under every day he had to look at his friend through plate glass.

He breathed out a heavy sigh, willed his shoulders straight, and tried to ignore the lump in his throat.  The rage in him started to rear its ugly head again, as he tracked over the broken state Stark had left Bucky in—had left both of them in now, abandoned and alone and with nothing—

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing.  For a moment, Steve didn’t recognize it as his own.  His eyes narrowed a little as he peered at the caller ID.  

Speak of the devil.

* * *

 

“ _Nathaniel is teething again_ ,” Laura said with a sigh like static, and in his morning haze, Clint could not help but grin.  “ _So be happy that you’re missing_ that _particular mess_.”

“I am happy,” Clint chuckled, though it was a strained thing at best.  “I’m very happy.  I hate it when they start biting.”

Laura made a soft sound, something noncommittal but amused all the same.  “ _Well, you’re missing out on all the fun then.  He tried chewing on one of Lucky’s squeak toys earlier, and your dog had a fit.”_

Muffling a snort, Clint hid his broad grin in a fist as he dangled his feet down over the edge of the roof, staring across the vast canopy of the rainforest that surrounded them.  “Sounds like a party.”

“ _It was_ ,” Laura hummed again.  “ _Want to say goodnight to the kids_?”

“Yeah,” Clint sighed.  “Put ‘em on.”

He was halfway through telling Lila and Cooper about the huge spider he found on his window that morning when he knew that he was no longer alone on the rooftop.  It wasn’t until they had finally stopped giggling long enough for him to tell them he loved them and that he would be home soon that he signaled for Steve to stop hovering and come join him.

Laura was tired when she bid him goodnight—or good morning—and he smiled as he did the same.  There was a great deal of reluctance in getting off of the phone, but eventually he managed another tight goodbye before snapping the phone shut.  With a tremendous sigh, he pressed his lips to the warm plastic, like maybe it would make the distance a little less vast.  Next to him, Steve settled with his feet hanging down next to Clint’s and waited.

“How are they?” he asked.

“Better,” Clint tucked his phone away and reached up to fidget with his hearing aid until it was less like listening through a door.  “They’re pretty used to me going away on missions.  Laura is, anyway.”

“That’s good,” Steve nodded, nose wrinkling as the fog of early morning began to burn off to make way for the heat of day.  “How can you stand being out here all the time?”

“I’m working on my tan,” Clint muttered wryly.

With a huff, Steve shook his head.  He went quiet for a long moment, until Clint finally looked his way.

“What are you doing out here?”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line.  “I got a call.”

“A call?”

“From Stark,” Steve said, voice more than a little rough.

Instantly, Clint bristled.  “ _And_?”

“And I guess…” Steve tipped his head back, taking a deep breath.  “I guess Thor is back with some bad news.  Some very bad news.  Stark was light on the details, and I don’t think it’s because he was keeping them from me.”

“You don’t think it could be oh, I dunno, a _trap_?”

“If Tony was that interested in locking us up, he would have come for us.”

Clint’s brows drew together.  “You sure about that, Rogers?”

The smile he received was self-deprecating and small.  “No.  No, I’m not.  But I am sure that when he put Thor on, the big guy sounded pretty distraught.”

“Fuck,” Clint grunted, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “That bad?”

Steve nodded slowly, almost grave.  "Don't think I've ever heard him sound so shaken before.  He didn't give me much to go on, but he sounds afraid.  Wants to talk to us about it personally."

“That bad,” Clint sighed to himself, leaning forward so that his elbows could rest on his knees.  “How is this gonna work?  We sneaking back into the good ol’ US of A and hiding somewhere?  I don’t think the ranch is the best place to plan for a huge battle.”

"No.  No, we won't go near it.  That's your place."  Steve said, adamant.  He paused for a second, expression dubious.  "Stark claims he'll put us up.  Sam thinks it's worth a shot, considering Thor's there.  But I'm not so sure."

“I guess the last place they’d look for us would be right under the nose of one of their own,” Clint said with a note of bitterness, then let his head droop beneath his shoulders for a moment as he ran over it in his head.

He remembered watching Stark from behind the bars of a cell.  Remembered burning with resentment.  But Clint had known Tony Stark for a few years now, and he knew when the man was hiding shock—and even guilt—beneath the carefully crafted façade.  He’d been trained to spot it, and it had been there, right on Stark’s face, even if neither of them had wanted to admit it.

“I don’t know all the details,” Clint said finally, popping his neck.  “About what happened in that lab.  But I know you and Barnes came back barely walking.  If you can take Stark for his word, I’m sure I can manage.”

Steve fell silent for a moment; pensive.  When he'd heard Stark’s voice down the end of the line, he’d wanted to turn the phone to dust in his hands.  "I can take Thor for his word. Stark's just hosting."

“Then I’ve got your back,” Clint reached over, hand clapping over Steve’s shoulder and giving one quick squeeze.  “Besides, it’ll be nice to get back to the states and not have to deal with this goddamn humidity.”

Steve huffed out a laugh, though it didn't quite sound right.  "Yeah.  It'll be nice to go back home."

“Yeah,” Clint nodded again, drifting for a moment, a bit dreamy and a bit distant; then he glanced at Steve with a sly grin.  “So, uh… how you gonna break this to Barnes?”

Steve's expression contorted, brows dragging down, and he shot Clint a glum look.  "I have no idea, but he ain't gonna like it."


	3. Chapter 2: Magic Carpet Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contracts, visitors, and Mad Titans abound.

The safe place Bucky had tried to carve out in Wakanda had caved in as fast as he tried to hollow it out.  A rush of bright lights and heavy arguments greeted him as the glass that kept him from the world fell away.  By this point, Bucky was well used to being brought out of cryo and thrust into the world in record time.  A god forsaken century of the practice had desensitized him to the abrupt start, and the full body burn of being resurrected.

This time somehow felt different.  It set Bucky ill at ease as he sat in the plane T’Challa had graciously provided for them, lent lopsided against the hull.  He made a point not to make eye contact with his fellow passengers, tucked away as if he'd rather retract into nothing. Perhaps if he didn't make any fuss, the threat of going nuclear in a contained space several thousand feet in the air would be diminished.  He supposed the jagged stump of an arm he'd been left with would give them an advantage.  If they saw it coming.  If he didn't get a weapon.

He could feel Steve's eyes on him, could almost see the pained look on his face, as if somehow he could hear Bucky's thoughts, as if the knowledge of what he was dwelling on brought him pain.

Bucky refused to relax the entire trip, eyes darting from one passenger to another when he thought they weren't looking.  Barton took the opportunity to sleep some of the way, as did Sam.  Bucky wondered if he was the only one with enough sense to see where this was going.  There was no way Stark was trying to extend an olive branch.  Not now.  Not after what he had done.

The burner phone that T’Challa had pushed into his hand hung heavy in Bucky's jacket pocket, assurance that if things went south --as they inevitably would-- he'd have an exit strategy.  Provided he made it that far.

They disembarked in mutual silence.  Bucky waited, quiet, with trepidation at the top of the ramp.  He glanced at Steve, gaze held for a moment, and he was able to find enough reassurance there to move out from the belly of the plane.  The first step he took was unsteady, off balance, the left sleeve of his shirt pinned up around nothing.

Something familiarly cold ran down his spine when he saw Stark standing there, seemingly unarmed, on the landing pad.  His eyes narrowed, looking the man up and down, as if assessing him for potential threat.  Stark seemed ragged.  Well dressed, but in a haphazard fashion that suggested either lack of thought, or lack of sleep.  The knowledge did nothing to set Bucky at ease.  He moved closer to Steve, half hidden behind the bulk of the Captain’s body.

A tension settled over all of them, and Bucky felt Barton bristle next to him, saw the telltale twitch of his fingers.  Behind them, T’Challa cleared his throat, moving with the confidence of royalty as he passed by, undaunted by the incredible tension that prickled between them.

"Apologies for the delay.  We came as soon as we could.  I'm sure you understand."  T’Challa said evenly, breaking the terrible silence.

“Nonsense,” a tall red-headed woman beamed with a genuine polite welcome, already striding forward on precariously high heels, hand outstretched to greet the Wakandan king.  “It’s all rather last minute.  We’re grateful you could make it.”

“Ms. Potts,” T’Challa took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to place a chaste kiss to the bridge of her knuckles.  “A pleasure to meet you in person.”

Her face colored a bit, but she did not lose the professional air about her.  “It certainly is,” she said, gaze flitting over to the rest of them.  “And it’s a pleasure to have so many familiar—and a few unfamiliar faces—back.”

“Pepper,” Barton greeted with a terse nod of his head, and from his side, Wanda offered a hesitant smile. 

“I’m sure I’ll have a chance to meet those of you I don’t know later,” Pepper said, eyes lingering pointedly on a more-than-jetlagged Scott and on where Bucky was still hovering close to Steve before landing back on T’Challa.  “For now, I believe we have business?”

“Yes, I believe we do.” T’Challa smiled in a disarmingly charming manner, offering his arm to her.  “Lead the way.”

Pepper strode away from the rest of them, pausing only long enough to touch Stark’s arm and lean in.  Even from where Bucky stood, he could see the way the line of Stark’s shoulders drew tight and the word Pepper Potts muttered to him: _behave_.

Stark shrugged her off and grinned like a shark.

It was when T’Challa had left the landing pad with Pepper that the heavy silence fell back over them.  It was a stifling thing that seemed to last minutes, but must have only been seconds as Stark shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked up on his toes. 

“Well, this is awkward.”  He offered, that sharp grin of his not dropping for a moment.  “Who talks first?”

"You didn't have a problem with talking first before." Steve retorted; sharp and certainly without the diplomacy that T’Challa had briefly modeled for them. Bucky shifted a little at his side, uncomfortable under Stark's gaze, but unwilling to leave Steve alone. 

Wanda glanced over, and with slight hesitance, spoke.  "I'm sure there's a good reason for calling us all here.  Perhaps it would be best if we started with that."

Stark’s gaze didn’t leave Steve’s face, but he did nod.  “Probably a wise idea, but that’s not my area.”

“What?” Clint drolled, shoulders rolling.  “Wise ideas or good reasons?”

Stark laughed then.  He tried to hide it behind a fist, tried to bite it back, but failed.  There was something bitter about it; something cutting in his eyes as they fell on the archer even as there was a tightness around them that could not be placed or named.  For a moment, that same tension that had broken Stark back at that lab seemed to settle over him.

Then there was thunder.

The man that landed on the pad next to Stark was a large one.  The smaller of the two finally glanced down, taking a small step away from the newcomer with a little twitch. 

“Thor, everybody.  Everybody, Thor.” He said.

“Tony,” Thor greeted with a fond exasperation, placing a hand on Stark’s shoulder as he looked to the rest of them.  “It is good to see you all gathered together again, Captain Rogers.”

Steve had never been more relieved to see the god in all his life, some of the tension falling from his shoulders.  "It's good to see you too, buddy."

Steve's comfort with Thor did something to ease Bucky's anxieties, but nothing at this point would set him at ease.  Thor was... unexpected.  Bucky didn't trust anyone with that kind of power.  But Steve liked him, and for now that was enough to allow the god some grace.

They were too exposed out here.  Elevated.  This was Stark's home turf, he'd have the advantage if something happened.  No quantity of benevolent gods could stop that.

"So. Where's the fire?" Sam asked, a ray of light in the dark of their tensions.

“Fortunately not upon us just yet,” Thor assured.  “But we have much to prepare for.  May I?”

Stark shrugged, hands still shoved into his pockets.  “Have at it, Bodhi.”

“If you all will follow me, I can lead you down to the quarters that have been made up for us during our trials,” Thor said.  “You can place whatever belongings you may have with you there before we converse.”

It was Sam that moved first, easing past in order to pace over toward where Thor stood.  Clint and Wanda soon followed, with Scott not far behind them.  As they left to head toward the elevator, they could hear Scott giddily mutter something along the lines of “dude, he’s a _god_ ” in Clint’s general direction.

Stark, however, did not move.

Neither Steve nor Bucky made an indication that they would break the line Stark had created.  Steve set his shoulders steady, a tension falling over his body, ready, just in case. Bucky shifted behind him, peering out from behind the curtain of his hair to glance at Stark, uneasy but no less ready.

He suddenly wished T’Challa hadn't left.

"This is brave." Steve said, and despite his words, there was no trace of a compliment in his tone.  "Anyone would think you'd rather avoid us."

“They’d be right,” Stark replied, tone light despite the darkness of his eyes when he peered back up at the two of them, though his anger seemed to burn brightest when he looked at Steve.  “But I’d rather stick my foot in it now than later.  Less risk of property damage up here.”

Something in Steve's expression flared up, and Bucky felt a deep kind of exasperation wash over him, moving beside him so he could nudge at Steve's side with his shoulder, a quiet reminder.  Steve glanced back at him, and seemed to settle again.

"We'd rather it if it didn't have to come to that.  Thor's asked us here to cooperate, I'd like to do right by him."

“Good.  Me too.  Or something equally as insipidly noble.” Stark waved a hand, as if to wave them off, or perhaps something else that seemed to cling to him like cobwebs.  “I don’t want to fight.  I’m kind of _done_ with the fighting, on an epic scale.  I’m here to…” his lips twitched, something not quite like a smile finding home on his mouth.  “I’m here to make peace.”

Bucky huffed out sound, almost like laughter at Stark's assertion, but made no effort to argue over semantics just now. 

Steve raised a brow at him, disbelieving. "Right.  Of course.  Truce, then?"

“Something like it,” Stark nodded.  “It’s big, whatever is coming.  I know better than to get in the way.  Consider my resources your resources, my friends your friends, blah blah, etcetera etcetera.  I’ll stay out of sight and out of mind unless you need me.”

"Enemy of my enemy," Steve said, agreeable, if slightly scathing as he took a step closer, finally breaking the lines they'd set.  He stopped a few feet from Stark, having to look down at him, Bucky making a quiet shadow at his side.  "We'll stay so long as we're needed."

Stark’s jaw flexed tight.  He glanced between them again, before his face broke into another one of those smiles that seemed razor sharp in nature. 

His movements were slow, pointedly so, as he reached into the inside jacket pocket of his suit coat.  He pulled out a slim square wrapped in brown paper.  Without a word, he held it out.  His brows shot up when Steve hesitated.

“Don’t worry, it won’t bite.” Stark said.  “It’s a peace offering.”

Bucky eyed the package with a passing interest, almost content to ignore it until Steve took the paper off.  Tattered red leather came into view, and with it a wave of nauseating fear, sticky and creeping.  Without a word or even a thought, his remaining hand came to scrabble at Steve's wrist, clutching at him as though it might offer some way to ground him as he stared down at the worn cover.

Steve glanced from between the book and Stark, expression dark.  "Where did you get this?"

“Filched it from the labs before Yosemite Sam could get his grubby little fingers on it after you flew the coup with T’Challa,” Stark said.  “It’s yours now.  Keep it, destroy it, I don’t care.”

Steve's expression didn't waver, but he kept tight hold on the book, quietly moving his other hand to brush at Bucky's, glancing back at him briefly.  Bucky hadn't looked back to either of them, zeroed in on the book currently residing in Steve's hand.

"You shouldn't have that." Bucky said, finally breaking hours of silence.  "What did you see?"

“A lot of Russian, mostly.”  Stark tucked his hands back into his pockets.  “Which I don’t speak.  Or read, for that matter.  Like I said, it’s a peace offering.  I don’t want it in the wrong hands any more than you do.”

If anything, the admission only compounded the racing of Bucky's heart, breath coming in uneven staggers.  He never should have left Wakanda.  Should have run when he'd had the chance.  Bucky fell silent again, fingers tightening further around Steve's wrist.

"I'm sure you don't."  Steve said, as even as he could manage, keeping the book folded against his body, arm barring the way.

“ _I don’t_ ,” and for once Stark’s tone matched the heat of his eyes, the cadence of it terse and unyielding, certainly firm enough to demand some kind of recognition—though Stark did not wait for any.  “But it’s getting kind of chilly up here, and Rocky will only wait so long before he starts revealing all of Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s secrets.  Why don’t we head inside?”

Steve took the offered excuse to get off the landing pad, tugging Bucky along with him, who fell in line to walk behind Steve, gait a little off center.  They took the elevator down three stories and then stepped out into a sleek suite.  Bucky made no move to let go of Steve's wrist, eyes darting around the room as they stepped in, making a mental list of entries and exits, as if it might somehow stop the inevitable.

* * *

 

It had been Tony’s idea to hold their little end-of-all-things briefing from Thor in the suite that had, at one point, been known by most of the people gathered there as a safe space.  He figured it would put them—some of them, rather—in some form of ease the way that the usual super-secret boyband conference room wouldn’t have. 

When Tony stepped out of the elevator, Steve and Barnes trailing just behind him, he was content to see that everyone had settled in the newly refurbished living area where it was elevated up slightly from the rest of the sprawling space.  It was a vastly open area, something Tony had taken to styling most of his properties with since his time in Afghanistan years previous; otherwise he felt claustrophobic.  On the couches, all in soft crèmes, jades, and blues, the people who used to be something a lot like family sat waiting with Thor standing at the center.

“You weren’t waiting on us, were you?” Tony asked, though his tone implied an indifference he didn’t have, before breaking away from Steve and Barnes and heading over to the bar off to the right.

“I would not like to repeat this,” Thor intoned solemnly. 

“The stage is yours, buddy.” Tony gestured over his shoulder, turning his back on the rest of them, not waiting to see if anyone made a disapproving face or if Barnes would stop acting like the good Captain’s shadow anytime soon.  

“Should we not wait for--?”

“I am here,” Vision phased through the floor in his usual moonlighting as a literature professor garb, his eyes only for where Wanda was sitting at the edge of a deep blue settee.  “It is good to see you all.  I find that I regret the nature of our last meeting.”

“You’re not the only one,” Scott muttered with a faint shudder, eyeing Vision with an odd wrinkle about his nose.   

“We’re not here to talk about old news,” Clint cut in with an irritation that was more than readily apparent.  “We’re here to talk about whatever it is that’s so important we all had to come back to the country that currently has us on a shoot-on-sight list.”

The archer looked pointedly over at where Tony had ducked behind the bar, his smile more of a sneer as he watched Tony pour two fingers of scotch into an empty glass.

“Well… most of us.”

Tony held up his drink in the mockery of a toast before taking a long pull.

“Friends,” Thor held out his hands in a pleading manner.  “Please.  There will be time for mending the bonds you have broken later.  It is important that we begin to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Wanda asked softly, carefully avoiding the Vision’s gaze, her focus centering on where Thor stood.

He grimaced before offering a roguish grin.  “For war.”

“I’m assuming you mean more than the garden variety earth type of war,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, brows drawing together as a weighty seriousness settled over them. 

“Indeed,” Thor nodded.  “There has been something stirring at the furthest reaches of the realms.  As I stand before you, he is already making his moves, gathering his resources with the sole objective of destruction and death.  Not a being in the Nine will be safe of his wrath should he claim what it is that he is after.”

"This just keeps getting better." Bucky mumbled, well and truly out of earshot for anyone save Steve, who had settled next to him, red book still clutched in his hand.

Steve's brows pulled in, watching Thor as he spoke.  "This guy got a name?"

“He is known as Thanos, the Mad Titan, Overmaster and Destroyer of Worlds,” Thor said, shifting from foot to foot.  “In his… infatuation with Mistress Death, he attempts to woo her with devastation.”

“Infatuation with…?” Scott paled a bit, looking over at where Tony was pouring himself a second drink.  “Can I get one of those?”

Steve blew out a sound, equal parts impressed as he was dubious.

"I guess that's one way to get a date." Clint interjected, a frown marring his expression.

"So.  World destroyer.  Okay, what's he got that we don't?"  Steve asked.

“To inform you of that, first you must know what occurred during my time back in Asgard and what was very nearly stolen from us if it had not been for the quick but no less questionable actions of my brother.”  Thor clutched his hammer closer to himself. 

Clint blinked a few times.  “Your brother?  The dead one?”

Thor managed to actually look guilty.  “Less dead than originally believed.”

“Who exactly is his brother?” Scott asked.

“Remember when that big portal opened a few hundred feet above where we are now a couple years back and let a bunch of freaks in from outer space to wreck New York?” Clint leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.  “ _That_ was his brother’s doing.”

“Loki has since explained his actions,” Thor argued.

“Loki.  Right.” Scott said dully, still for a long and quiet second before he shoved to his feet, pacing down the stairs and over to the bar where Tony slid him a tumbler of scotch that Scott was quick to down.  “Oh, that’s good,” he rasped.

Without a word, Tony held up the bottle and Scott nodded emphatically.

As Tony poured, Thor cleared his throat.  “While my brother’s actions have been questionable—“

“Genocidal,” Clint corrected.  “You mean, genocidal.”

“—he has since made proper reparations and steps toward making amends for those actions, for not all of them were his own.”  Thor continued, casting a dirty look the archer’s direction.  “When Thanos made attempts to siege property under the protections of Asgard through a third party, he risked his life to prevent the theft.”

“And that makes him suddenly a good guy?”

“I did not claim that,” Thor frowned.  “But in the aftermath, he made clear what chaos was unraveling in the farthest regions of the realms and that his intensions would be to aid us against those machinations.”

Vision, head canted, drifted closer.  “What was almost stolen?”

“The Tesseract.”

“You mean the thing that got him in trouble in the first place,” Steve said.

Thor faltered.  “Yes, well…”

“So long story short,” Tony finally piped up, already pouring himself a third glass.  “Little bro pulled a Major Calloway and helped you out last minute when the going got tough.  Now your enemy is his enemy, and he’s decided to jump ship.”

Though he hesitated, Thor gave a firm nod.  “Yes.  Loki will stand with us against Thanos, even if it is only to save himself and what he holds most precious.”

“Not a bad ally to have,” Tony shrugged, hissing a little as he swallowed another mouthful of scotch.

“And when turning against us does him more favor than working with us?” Sam asked.

“There is no winning with Thanos; my brother knows this.”  Thor assured with an unyielding firmness.  “Thanos will destroy everything in his path, ally or no.  Loki knows that the Titan’s destruction is the only good outcome.”

“Why is he after the Tesseract?” Wanda tilted her head.  “So that he can open another portal?”

“Among other things,” Thor replied, though his gaze moved to Vision.  “Thanos desires the power of the Tesseract for the same reasons he will come to Midgard to claim the Mind Stone.”

“Mind Stone?”

More than one voice asked, though Steve and Tony grimaced just as realization dawned over Wanda and Clint’s faces, but Vision was already reaching up with red fingers to his forehead.  He stopped short of touching it, fingertips just hovering before he dropped his hand back to his side.  His expression, while conflicted, was nearly unreadable otherwise. 

“Did you know?” Vision asked.

“I had a suspicion,” Thor dipped his head.  “When I went into the waters, I saw but I did not understand.  Not until I went home and the connection was made clear.”

“You gonna explain that connection for the rest of the class anytime soon?  There’s a few people here who are a bit remiss on their ancient, galactic history.” Clint grunted.

“The Mind Stone, like the Tesseract, is one of six Infinity Stones.”  Thor explained, finally setting his hammer down on the coffee table nestled between them all.  “The legend is an old one, which begins with the six different singularities that existed before the making of the universe.  Six Stones.  Once the universe began to take form, the Stones were scattered across existence.  Only those with incredible power could manipulate them.”

“This might be a leap, but I’m assuming there are individuals out there who qualify?” Sam raised a dry brow, and Thor offered him a self-deprecating smile.

“Yes.  The first of which were beings called the Celestials.”

“Celestials?”

“Star Giants,” Thor clarified.  “An old race of beings known for their experiments.  There are some stories that tell tales of how they created all other forms of life within this universe.  They are long extinct.”

“You know, I’m starting to think I might want a drink too.” Clint muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Celestials are obviously not the only creatures in existence that can wield the power of the Stones,” Thor looked again to Vision.  “Thanos has aspirations to wield all of them and bring an end to all that is.  And he will begin with Midgard.”

The room was quiet for a time.  They all seemed to recede at the proclamation; into themselves and into their thoughts. 

Sam looked to Steve, who looked to Bucky.  Their grim expressions were not an assurance.  After a moment, Thor took a seat, none too graceful as he plopped into an overly large crème chaise. 

At the edge, Vision hovered, his gaze cast down at the loafers on his feet.  Wanda was staring at him, the tips of her fingers pressed to her lips.  Beside her, Clint buried his face in his hands.  He only looked up when he heard the sound of footsteps and the soft _chime_ of ice against glass.

He was surprised to see Tony standing there, spare drink dangling from his fingers in silent offering.  Clint took it with some amount of caution, sniffing it briefly before making a pleased noise and taking one long pull.  It was dry but good, burning just right on the way down with faintest hint of lime.  With a wince that was far more pleased than it was pained, Clint lifted it in salute to Tony, brows up.

“Tanqueray?”

“Well, you don’t like scotch.”

“Thanks,” Clint croaked.

Tony made a gesture, hand coming just up to his own brow before he arced it down.  Casual but deliberate.  Clint had to sit back on the couch he was so shocked; pleased.  Before he could muster a response, Tony was already turning away and trotting back down toward the bar where Scott was rummaging around in the cabinets.

“Anybody else?” he called over his shoulder.

“I’ll have a beer, since you’re offering.”  Sam said, more than a bit weary.

“What’s the timeline on this situation?” Steve finally asked. 

Thor sighed.  “Without the Tesseract—the Space Stone—Thanos will have to travel here by regular means.  Months at the very least.  Loki is keeping an eye on the outer most reaches of the realms with the aid of Heimdall.  The moment Thanos touches Alfheim, we will be informed.  And we will prepare for battle, for he will not stop there.”

“He’s heading straight for _us_.” Steve concluded.

“It appears so.”

Another silence loomed, threatening to overcome them once more.

“So,” Tony chirped.  “You guys must be hungry.  Pizza?”

* * *

 

Everything about the tower made Bucky uncomfortable. Now more so than ever.  The red thing in a sweater vest and a tie called Vision walking in front of them and guiding them toward their rooms did nothing to ease his nerves.  Stark had the book.  Stark had read the book.  Of all of the people, in all of the world, it had to be him.  The months that he'd been under would have been more than ample time for him to get a translator.

Between the book and the impending arrival of purple doom, Bucky's head was left spinning in the worst of ways.  Just when he thought the fighting was over, that he might be able to catch a break, it started up again.

"You should find everything you require inside." Vision said, tone even, and oddly serene as he stopped them in front of a single door.  "If you should need anything else, please let us know.  This place is to be yours as much as it is ours now."

"Thank you." Steve replied, civil, but hardly warm as he unlocked the door to what would be their quarters.  

Bucky followed him in, eyes flicking over the red man with something like curiosity before the door shut between them.  What the fuck did Stark even keep around here?

They stopped just inside the door, equally curious as they were wary about their new surroundings. Their quarters seemed to consist of a single living area that broke off into two separate rooms.  It was all deep greens and soft browns, though there was a particularly plush brown leather couch sitting at the center of the common space, dark and inviting.  The kitchenette to the right had two bar stools lined along the high marble counter, and where the soft carpet ended, there were dark wood floors. 

On the far wall, there was a large pan of windows that were dimmed to fight out the lights of the city surrounding them.  The living room was large and welcoming and there was a closed door on either side of it.  Without much prompting, Steve went to the right, Bucky the left.

"Guess it could be worse." Bucky remarked, slowly getting himself familiar with the layout of the rooms.

"Could be a tent." Steve replied, glancing back from the door to what Bucky assumed was another bedroom.

It was comfortable, certainly, but something about it felt off; felt forced.  Like the walls would give with the slightest bit of pressure.  His own room was similarly dressed to the surrounding space; lots of dark wood and expensive veneer that probably chip the first time he woke too fast.

"Buck, hey."

The sound of his name broke Bucky's focus, turning around unsteadily to find Steve in their living area, his shield in his hands.

Bucky's brows furrowed in at the sight of the familiar object, peering at it for a second, and then back up to Steve. "Stark leave it for you?"

Steve nodded, fingers running over the claw marks still in the metal.  "Exactly how I left it, yeah."

Bucky huffed out a sound, coming closer. "Not sure if that's brave or stupid, arming you."

Steve glanced at him, lips twitching up. "It's Stark. Probably both."

Bucky made a noncommittal noise, but his eyes lingered on the shield until he moved away, back to the room he'd claimed as his own. "Keep it close, yeah?"

Silence fell over them, and just as Bucky was going over his room with an uncharacteristic slowness, as if he expected to find some kind of catch, Steve called for him again.

"Bucky.  Come on, we can't just not talk about it."

Bucky's expression darkened.  He stared down at the seams between the beams of Merbau, taking one breath, and then another. After a moment long enough to stop his hand from shaking, he turned again. He found Steve expectant, the red book Stark had handed over in hand.

"He gave it to you. You can deal with it."

"He gave it to us." Steve corrected, raising a brow. "So. What're we gonna--?"

"Destroy it." Bucky said, adamant. Immediate.

"Okay.  Alright." Steve replied, even as he set the book on the low table that sat beside a couch.

There was a beat, red leather pulling silence, stillness over the both of them.

"Do you even know what it is?"

Steve's jaw went tight, and his shoulders shifted in a restless manner.  "I know what it did to you."

"And that's all you need to know."  Bucky said, a little too fast, as he looked back up at Steve.

There were some things in this world that weren't meant to reach the light of day.  

Inhaling a long, slow breath, Steve gave a small nod.  "Okay," he said. "That's all I need to know."

Relief washed over him, as if he wasn't expecting Steve to let go so easily. "Can't have any part of it left.  Burn it or drown it or something.  It needs to be gone."

"Consider it done," Steve said with something soft in his voice and in his expression. 

Bucky hummed out a little sound, satisfied as he looked away from the book.  "That's the last thing we need coming around to bite me in the ass now.  Considering the impending doom."

At the mention of it, Steve deflated a bit, hand coming up to drag over his scalp in a tired way.  His entire body moved with his sigh as his gaze dropped to the floor.

"Yeah, that's... That's something."

Something in Bucky's expression softened.  "It'll be okay, though.  We'll work something out."

“You think so?” Steve asked, glancing up with a wry and lopsided grin.

"We know he's coming.  Gives us an edge."  Bucky said.  "And he's not expecting a struggle; he won't come with the big guns first."

“I don’t know about that,” Steve said on something that might’ve been a laugh.  “Last time something big and bad came knocking on our door, we threw a nuke at it.  It sends a message.”

“This guy eats meteors like granola.  A nuke might give him a bit of a rash if we're lucky."  Bucky replied with a bit of a shrug. "And I think we'd like to avoid those kinds of casualties."

“Well, most of us.”  Steve nodded.  “Technically that nuke was aimed at New York.”

Bucky's brows furrowed in. "What happened?"

Steve went quiet for a moment, eyes falling to where he'd placed the shield on the leather couch.  He took another breath, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans before he looked up at Bucky again.

"Stark, actually."  Steve said.  "He um... he flew it through--" Steve gestured vaguely upwards.  "--he took care of it.  Almost died."

Bucky peered at him for a minute, slowly processing what he'd heard, holding it against what he already knew.  It didn’t fit with the image he had of the man who had nearly beaten him to death.  Of the man who had been so consumed with rage that he’d attacked whatever stood in his way with a keen ruthlessness.  He was silent for a long moment before he tipped his head in consideration. 

"I guess he lives here too."

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, brows pinching, pensive.  “I guess he does.”

"I don't know what his game is with all this."  Bucky started, looking away from him again.  "But I don't like it.  This doesn't feel right; there's something we're missing."

“Probably,” Steve sighed.  “But it doesn’t matter right now.  What matters is what’s coming.”

Bucky’s expression turned grim. "Yeah.  That."

"That," Steve said with another one of those wry smiles.  "But for now, we should probably get some rest."

"Yeah.  Yeah, we should."  Bucky replied, returning the expression with a tight lipped smile of his own as he started to retreat back into the room he'd been given, turning away from Steve.

The space didn't feel like his own yet, but he had a feeling it never would.  It felt too clean, too impersonal, to ever be his.  He had no real possessions to unpack save for the single bag of clothing T'Challa had given him, which had been left zipped beside his bed, unwilling to make a mark on the room yet.

He knew enough about Stark to know he was being watched in one way or another while he was alone.  None of the obvious signs were present, but this was Stark's home.  Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let them wander without being monitored.

Time passed as he laid out on neatly tucked sheets, unable to find peace in the new space.  He rolled over as best he could given the state of his arm, looking over the city below them from the window on the far side of his room, lights like points of life in a sea of dark.  If he had to pass the night alone, at least he had something to look at.

* * *

 

“Mr. Stark.”

Tony, face down on his desk, let out a soft grunt. 

“Miss Potts is outside.  Shall I let her in?”

The harsh lights of the lab that FRIDAY had dimmed down to 20% when Tony had dozed off somewhere between the late hours of night and early hours of morning lifted to full strength.  Tony groaned and waved a hand, a wordless permission as he straightened up from the uncomfortable position he’d slumped into. 

He dragged a slow hand over his face, scrubbing away the fatigue and maybe the alcohol that still clung to him.  The finer materials of his suit had been abandoned for a worn cotton t-shirt and an old pair of jeans.  There was grease on the denim and under his fingernails.  He squinted down at them, one eye almost completely shut as the doors to his private lab slid open with a soft _snick_.

The smell of coffee was the first thing he noticed, and he let out an appreciative groan as Pepper set a cup down in front of him.  The second thing was the purse of her lips, though he tried not to pay them too much attention. 

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

“Quality question,” Tony muttered into the paper cup.  “FRIDAY?”

“Approximately 78 minutes of sleep, sir.” FRIDAY replied.  “You did not reach REM cycle.”

Tony grinned up at Pepper as she placed her hands on her hips where her well-tailored dress narrowed fashionably.  “See?  I slept.”

“Today is a big day.”

“Is it?”

Pepper closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  “Tony—“

“Hey, no worries, Pep.” Tony pushed to his feet, coffee still clutched in hand.  “I didn’t forget.”

“Good,” Pepper nodded, eyeing him a way that told him she wanted to reach out and smooth the wild tangle of his hair. 

She didn’t.

Clearing her throat, she turned away, heels clipping against the white tiles of the floor as she led him toward the door.  “They’ll arrive in twenty minutes.  T’Challa would like to speak with you before he departs.”

“Any hiccups?”

“No.  The paperwork is complete; the both of you just need to sign.” Pepper glanced at him over her shoulder.  “Have you eaten anything?”

He hadn’t.  “I don’t suppose I have time to shower and shave?”

Pepper sighed.  “No.”

“Let’s head to the conference room, then.  You’ll greet our guests?”

“And lead them down to the suite.”

“Barton and Lang?”

“Notified,” Pepper came to a stop at the elevator, reaching out to press the down button.  “They’re to arrive ten minutes after.”

“Think they will?”

The elevator doors slid open and they both stepped inside.  “Curiosity is a marvelous thing,” she said.

“Good.”

It had been a long two days since inviting the Avengers—or what used to be the Avengers—back into the Tower.  The tension was heavy, but considering that they were not technically present on Stark property, at least not on paper, there was no leaving in order to escape the weight of it.  Tony had taken quickly to hovering at the edges or burying himself in his lab. 

After dropping the rather large and purple bomb of a Mad Titan on their heads, Thor had returned home in order to gather more information so that they could begin to prepare.  He had mentioned something about an attack in the far reaches outside of “the realms” with an expression that spoke of nothing but foreboding.  He had promised to return posthaste, but had otherwise left them all to their own devices.

Which, for Tony, meant avoiding everyone at all cost.  The facilities in the Tower were certainly enough to keep a gaggle of super-enhanced fugitives busy for a while, but Tony still did not enjoy facing them.  Something sticky had taken up residence in his stomach since their return.  It was something like tar; black and churning.  It was strongest whenever he looked Captain America in the face.

He preferred avoiding the sensation whenever possible.  If he wasn’t busy dealing with the claims he’d filed or going over addendums, he was busy in the labs, tinkering and drinking his nights away. 

The elevator doors slid open on the third floor.  Pepper led him through the newly renovated space at a brisk pace, though that didn’t stop him from looking around.  He sipped his coffee and admired the flags that lined the walls.  Between the three floors he’d had relegated, there should be 193 flags in total.  He didn’t bother counting them all.

In the conference room, T’Challa was sat with a stern looking woman hovering at his side.  She looked up as they entered and nodded her head at Pepper before focusing on Tony.

T’Challa stood with a polite smile, rounding the head of the long conference table and offering Tony a hand.  “Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Is it?” Tony asked dryly, switching his coffee into his left hand in order to reach out and accept T’Challa’s offered one.  “Doesn’t feel like it, but that might be the hangover talking.”

The woman with the stern expression narrowed her eyes further but made no comment.  As Pepper laid out the thick booklets—four in total—and two fountain pens on the table between them, T’Challa released Tony’s hand and gestured to the woman.

“Mr. Stark, this is Kasumba.  She is my Chief of Security.” T’Challa said.

“Pleasure,” Tony lifted his cup and then took another long gulp.  “Shall we?”

“I would like nothing more,” T’Challa inclined his head and they took their seats.

Tony set his coffee aside and plucked up the engraved pen, flipping it gracefully between his fingers as he cracked open the booklet with his brows up as he read over the claim purpose and applicability instruction just beyond the content page.  “Enclosure?” he asked.

“A small stipulation to ensure the components indicated receive proper treatment,” T’Challa nodded.  “Unless you have objections?”

“Depends on the enclosure.”

T’Challa’s lips pressed thin, like he was biting back a smile.  “Understandable.  Kasumba?”

Kasumba stood, lifting a small briefcase from the floor next to her and laying it on the table between them.  She did not look away from Tony as she tapped in a code that released the locks with a _hush_ of air, lifting the case open and turning it in a swift and smooth motion.  Tony’s eyes widened when he saw the cylinder encased at the center of it.  Next to him, Pepper straightened considerably.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to create something durable and dangerous.  He looked to T’Challa, who sat studying him with something curious and intent in the softness of his eyes.  Tony sat back in his chair, deflating with a gust of air.

“Vibranium?” he asked.  “Enclosure one is vibranium?”

"Technically, enclosure one is the contract specifying what you are and are not allowed to make with this particular piece of vibranium," T'Challa said, shutting his booklet and folding his hands over the top of it.  "Consider the vibranium itself an incentive."

"What are the terms?" Pepper asked. 

"A very specific use for it, though whatever remains after is yours to do as you like."  T'Challa replied, tilting his head as he kept his regard upon Tony while the man flipped to the back of the booklet to oversee the slim but finely crafted contract. 

He waited, patiently, and seemed to tense only when Tony went completely still. 

“Tony, if you don’t agree with it, we can barter to strike it all together.  Or at the very least make an addendum.”  Pepper leaned in, voice low.

“You would give up a chance to work with a metal so precious?” Kasumba sneered.

“If the contract calls for a weapon forged from it for you, _yes_.” Pepper insisted, her chin high.

“It is not a weapon that I am asking for,” T’Challa assured, though Tony made a derisive snort.  “Nor is it for myself.”

“If we refuse?” Pepper asked.

T’Challa shrugged, unruffled.  “Then you say no.”

“I’d like a chance to look over the contract myself before we—“

“I’ll do it,” Tony said, his voice a bit rough, but his gaze steady as he finally glanced up from the contract.  “Whatever’s left I get to keep?”

“Tony—“

“Yes,” T’Challa cut Pepper off with a nod.  “Though there are limitations on what you can do with that as well.”

“No WMDs, you mean.”  Tony bit off the cap to the fountain pen and spit it aside.  “Don’t worry.  I gave up the weapon mongering a while back.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Pepper’s hand darted out, catching Tony by the wrist before he could touch pen to paper.  “Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

“Never,” Tony smiled.  “But when has that stopped me?”

With some recalcitrance, she released him.  He signed his name with a flourish on the bottom of the contract.  T’Challa leaned back in his chair, pleased, and Kasumba shut the case before returning to her own seat. 

As soon as Tony finished initialing the next page, T’Challa took up his own pen and opened his booklet back up.  They finished signing the agreement after a few clarifications were made, and were done before Pepper had to excuse herself to take care of the guests that had just touched down on the rooftop, documents clutched in hand.  Kasumba followed her, briefcase dangling from her fingers, as Pepper led her out of the conference room and toward the elevator so that they could store the case in one of the vaults of Tony’s private lab.

The second they were gone, both men turned focus upon each other, standing and shaking hands once more. 

“I will admit, Mr. Stark.” T’Challa began, adjusting his suit coat.  “I did not expect you to give in so easily.”

“Yeah, I don’t usually meet expectations.”

T’Challa huffed out a laugh.  “No, you certainly don’t.  But I know why you did not refuse the contract.  You are very good at hiding it, but it is an expression I have worn myself more than once.”

“Expression?”

“Of guilt,” T’Challa nodded, noting that Tony did not even flinch.  “And of anger.  Both things I am very familiar with.”

Tony leaned back slightly, nose wrinkling.  “You’re pretty wise for someone ten years my junior.”

That earned Tony a loud, belly laugh.  T’Challa reached up, clapping both of his hands on Tony’s shoulders as they moved to exit the conference room side by side. 

“You are very funny, Mr. Stark.  And very good at avoiding things you do not wish to talk about.”

“Well, I have a lot of practice.”  Tony shrugged.  “And call me Tony.”

The ride back up to the top floors was equally as swift as the ride down.  They stepped out into the common suit, conversing quietly about the arc reactor as a sustainable and clean energy source, comparing it with the particulars of the system Wakanda ran on.  It was another deal in the making, and was only interrupted by the loud squeal of a young girl being swept up into Scott Lang’s arms.

The suite, set up for breakfast, had been interrupted by two invading forces.  Scott had his daughter wrapped in his arms at the center of the room, and over by the large dining table, Clint was knelt with his face buried in the angel fine hair of his oldest son while his daughter clung valiantly to one of his arms.  Just off to the side, Pepper stood with Laura Barton on her left and Natasha Romanoff on her right.  They all had soft smiles on their faces. 

“How are you so _big_ , peanut?” Scott asked, groaning in a dramatic fashion that made the girl giggle down at him.  “You’re gonna be bigger than me in no time.”

Tony snorted quietly to himself, but it was enough to catch Natasha’s attention while all else present seemed rather taken with the reunions.  As she made her way over, T’Challa excused himself, making a beeline toward where Barnes and Rogers were hovering by the coffee maker.

“Stark,” she greeted as she came to stand by him.

“Romanoff,” he nodded back.  “Good morning?”

“Early morning.  I’ve been on a plane since four.”

“Coffee?” he offered her his own cup and her nose wrinkled in distaste.  “Your loss.”

Despite the fact that she was talking with Tony, Natasha made no effort to make eye contact with him, watching over Clint as he caught up with his family, a quiet little smile on her face.  The Barton children were more relaxed than she'd seen them for nearly a month.  It brought a slow warmth to her chest, contented.

"I see you've been making some friends" she said, glancing up at Tony, and then over to T'Challa.

“That’s a relative term,” Tony replied.  “This your doing?  I set up a private room.”

Natasha didn't give either a confirmation or a denial, but her lips twitched up.  "You could all use the pick me up."

Tony’s nose wrinkled, but it was all show as he shoved his free hand into the pocket of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.  “Kids and me don’t mix well.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  "Oh, please.  You are a kid, Stark."

“I resent that.  Despite the fact that it may be true.”

"I'm sure you do," Natasha said evenly, somehow managing to sound scathing despite the blank nature of her expression.

Tony actually winced, gaze dropping to his feet.  He rubbed a hand over the back of his scalp, clearing past a tightness in his throat before he finally looked back up.

His fingers were dangerously tight around the paper cup of coffee.  “About what I said—“

"Can it, Stark. Mistakes were made all around."  She interrupted, raising a single well-groomed eyebrow at him.  "If you look any guiltier you're going to give me hives."

“Well,” Tony’s smile was tight as he shrugged.  “When you’re guilty.”

"You don't need to apologize to me," she replied, tone softening some before looking pointedly over to where Clint was talking with his wife, Lila balanced on his hip.

Brows up, Tony gestured vaguely with his coffee cup.  “You think I let kids run around my place often?”

Natasha made a sound of appraisal.  "It's a start.  At least."

“That _was_ the idea,” Tony nodded, twisting slightly to face Natasha with more deliberation.  “What have you been--?”

“Mr. Stark?”

Blinking, Tony faltered and glanced down at the dark haired girl clutching at Scott’s hand, her eyes big and only for Tony in that way only children can manage.  Scott looked both anxious and excited, his grin crooked as he stood next to his daughter. 

“That… would be me.” Tony managed after a moment, his mouth twitching into a tentative smile.  “And you are?”

“Cassie,” she chirped.

"Play nice." Natasha leaned in to his ear with a hiss, glancing up at Tony before she returned to look at Cassie, a smile coloring her expression.

Tony gave Natasha a look that was aghast and that said something like “I always play nice” even though he didn’t say it.  Crouching down, Tony set his coffee cup aside in order to adjust the fit of his jeans and then offered a hand to the girl hovering in quiet delight before him. 

“That’s a lovely name,” he said.  “Is it short for anything?”

“Just Cassie,” she took his hand and shook it with firm enthusiasm. 

“Well, just Cassie,” Tony glanced up furtively at Scott, but he seemed almost equally as eager.  “It is _incredibly_ nice to meet you.”

* * *

 

If Bucky had known that there was going to be children in the Tower that morning, he never would have left his floor.  He didn't quite trust himself around something so small.  He hadn't since he'd started running.  He shifted, uncomfortable as he and Steve finished breakfast, waiting by the coffee machine.  If Steve noticed his discomfort, he didn't say anything; although Bucky did notice him move in subtly closer.

Vaguely, he could recall Clint mentioning a family when they'd been in Vienna, but at the time he hadn't been paying much attention.  The presence of their respective families seemed to make them happy, and Bucky wouldn't begrudge them that for the sake of his own hang ups.  This was their space too.

"Didn't know Lang had a kid." Bucky remarked after a moment, taking the cup of coffee Steve offered him.

Steve hummed. "Cassie, I think."

Bucky gave a soft sound of acknowledgement from around the rim of his coffee mug. "Lucky guy."

 "He is," Steve replied, a little wistful before his attention was drawn toward T'Challa as he approached.

“Good morning,” he greeted them with a smile and a polite dip of his head.  “I do believe this is the most lively I have seen this place in the few days I’ve spent here.”

"Your highness." Steve greeted, though it came out more light hearted than it did respectful.  "It's certainly brighter."

Bucky returned the T'Challa's greeting with a little smile.  He'd never quite work out how the Wakandan managed to turn up at precisely the right moment.  "And louder."

“Louder is not always bad,” T’Challa muttered, arms crossing as he leaned against the edge of the counter next to them, eyes straying to the odd sight of Tony Stark kneeling in front of a girl who could be no older ten.  “This was not expected, I take it?”

"I think it was supposed to happen elsewhere," Steve said, glancing over to them again.

Bucky's brows pulled in when he saw Stark with Lang's daughter, oddly cautious.  Protective, even.

"Kinda wish it had," he said after a moment.

T’Challa looked to him then, head tilted.  “If you have a moment, Mr. Barnes, I would like to have a word with you before I take my leave back to Wakanda.”

Bucky's gaze snapped back to T'Challa, and he was quiet for a moment.  He supposed he should have known that he'd be leaving.  A king couldn't leave his people lightly.  

Still, it stirred something unpleasant up. They'd be vulnerable without the Wakandan.

"Yeah.  Sure.  After you."

T’Challa led him away from the kitchen.  He trailed, quiet in an enduring manner, up one of the ramps that arched around the vast suite.  Bucky was evenly paced at his side.  They only came to a stop at the level top of the walkway.

The view down over the city was a beautiful one.  The skies were clear, and from the vantage point above so many other buildings, the horizon appeared to be distant and jagged in a way that was breathtaking.  T’Challa placed his hands behind his back, gazing out over the city.

“How are you adjusting out of cryo, Mr. Barnes?” he asked.

"Please, Bucky's fine. You don't have to be so formal." Bucky said.

He fell into step next to him, coming to a halt at the Wakandan’s side, standing closer than he might have if it was anyone else.  He shrugged a little, motion slow and easy.

"And you guys are a lot gentler on the wake up." Bucky said, oddly casual, given the subject.  "I think I'd rather be asleep, though."

T’Challa did not look at him.  “You are frightened.  Of yourself and what you might do.”

Bucky fell silent, quickly looking away from him, fingertips tugging at the hem of his shirt anxiously. It was deeply unsettling, to have someone play it all out like that.  Not even Steve had said it so bluntly; although, Bucky knew he was thinking it.

"I... I don't want to be like I was.  I won't do that anymore."

“And you do not have to,” T’Challa turned his way. 

Bucky glanced back up at him, brows furrowing.  "I don't get much of a say in it."

“Is the text which controlled you not lost to the world?”

Bucky paused for a second, recalled the smell of burning paper and ink, the glow of embers, and shook his head.  "No.  It's gone now.  We destroyed it.  Stark found it."

Head tipping back in realization, T’Challa let out a soft sound and turned his eyes back to the cast city scape.  “I see.  You fear what he may have found in it.  And what he may do with that information.”

Bucky nodded slowly; gravely. "He's got the motive."

“My father told me something when I was very young.  Long before I took up the mantel of Black Panther.”  T’Challa said and turned to him again, fully this time, his smile small and wistful.  “I think it might be of some help, if you let it.”

Bucky shifted a little to look at T'Challa properly, expression guarded but curious.  "What was it?"

“That fear is like mulled wine.  Good in moderation; it quickens the pulse, the breath; it sharpens awareness.  But if you drink too much of it too often, you lose control.  More importantly, you lose yourself.”  T’Challa reached out for him then, hands bracing at Bucky’s broad shoulders with a gentle firmness.  “You must not let it rule you.”

To Bucky's credit, he didn't flinch when T'Challa laid his hands on his shoulders, his left side giving a little under the weight, cracked plates wheezing.  He met the Wakandan's gaze steadily, silent for a beat as he took in the advice.  

"I can try."

“That, my friend, is all that I can ask of you.”

* * *

 

The King of Wakanda departed late the following day, Kasumba in tow.  He left without fuss, bidding them each a fond farewell.  As he was going, T'Challa informed Bucky in low tones that there was an embassy not three blocks away from the tower with instructions to give him sanctuary should things here turn sour.  Before Bucky could thank him, the king had pulled away. He made a mental note to try and find a way to repay T'Challa for his kindness.

Lang's daughter—Cassie, he had confirmed— joined them for dinner that night, enthusiastically telling everyone about her gymnastics teacher.  Bucky couldn't help but smile.  She was so bright, and young, and unaware of the world.  It made something twinge in his chest.

Barton and his little gaggle were rather scarce, although Bucky had found them occupying the main living area frequent enough.  In the morning, he found Wanda with them, perched near Laura, a smile on her face as she made shapes in red energy for a delighted baby.  In the short time he'd known her, Bucky hadn't seen her smile so brightly.

Steve had taken to running again.  Bucky heard him fumble around every morning just before day light, but he never made a move to join.  He'd be more likely to fall over than run with the state he was in.  It had been months since the incident in Russia, but he was still to adapting to the weightlessness of his left side.

Slowly, as the days passed, Bucky found himself venturing out from within his room.  T'Challa had told him not to let fear rule him, and if that meant wandering Stark's home then so be it.

Thankfully he'd not come across the man himself—Stark was more than often not around, in his own suite or off with the woman Bucky had come to know as Pepper, rather than linger around any of them-- but he had run into Vision once or twice.  They passed each other without more than a nod of acknowledgment.  The Tower was a seemingly endless maze of rooms and sub levels.  Bucky had found a fully operational gym on one floor, lingering for a moment before he came away.  He had nothing to practice, even if the familiar routine would give him something to do with his days.

It was late in the afternoon one day when a knock at the door came.  Steve had gone out earlier, something about seeing Natasha, but he never knocked before he reentered their quarters.  Brows furrowing in, Bucky rose to his feet, the paperback he'd been reading left propped open on the couch.  The line of his shoulders grew taut when he opened to door to find Tony Stark waiting outside.

Something cold trickled down his spine, eyes darting over the man before him.  Fear, anger, resentment.  Bucky wasn't sure.

"What do you want?"

Stark looked tired, but offered one of those disconcertingly sharp smiles of his.  “That’s a loaded question, Duke Nukem.  But what I’m here for is you.”

Bucky shifted a little on his feet, not making a move from where he stood in the doorway.  He could feel his pulse quicken, breath catching a little in his throat.  Somehow, he'd thought Stark wouldn't try anything so soon, or perhaps wait until he wasn't in the Tower.  That was apparently not to be. He glanced behind him, but knew there was nowhere to run from here, not so high off the ground.

In the chaos of it all, he could remember T'Challa's advice.  Far easier said than done.

"Okay.  Why?"

“I have something for you,” Stark said, restless and static all at once, a subtle shifting and flexing just beneath the surface that spoke of nerves or anticipation.  “I just kinda need you to come with me down to my lab.”

Bucky huffed out a breath, short and sharp, opening the door a little wider so he could start to move out, hesitant.  Something about Stark seemed off.  He was quiet for a moment more, shoulders dropping as he steeled himself.  "Okay.  Lead the way."

It earned him an odd look, Stark leaning back slightly, eyes narrowing and flitting over him from head to toe.  The scrutiny lasted only a second, nearly long enough for Bucky to second guess himself, but then Stark shook his head and gestured down the hall toward the elevator. 

“Uh.  Following me.  Would be good.” Stark said, already moving away. 

Bucky was silent as he closed the door behind him, lingering for just a second longer, his fingers hovering on the doorknob before he turned to follow Stark to the elevator.  He made no effort to break the silence, expression carefully blank as he strode after him.  He stepped into the elevator beside him when the doors slid open, keeping as much distance as he could manage.

In his stomach, something cold and heavy settled.  He took slow, measured breaths, his hand curled tight at his side.  Stark did not say anything and Bucky couldn’t figure out if that made standing there next to him easier or more terrifying.


	4. Chapter 3: Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts given and contracts fulfilled.

The fact that he was in an elevator with his parents’ killer did not escape Tony Stark.  He was constantly aware of it, actually, at the back of his head like an incessant buzzing.  It set his teeth on edge, and by the time they reached the floor where the labs were located, his jaw was aching.

The doors slid open and Tony stepped out with a jerky motion, his steps sort of stilted.  He was shaking, he realized, as he punched in the code on the panel to unlock the lab.  The glass walls were fogged from ceiling to floor, pale and opaque with the privacy settings still locked in place as he gestured to Barnes to follow after him into the vast room that was littered with an array of tech.  Off in the corner, there was a large holo of complicated schematics that looked like neurons firing at random, streamlined and twisted almost artfully in an array of blues and reds.  Tony was quick to collapse them.

He knew Barnes was hovering, uncertain, just inside of the door.  Tony tried to ignore that too, and moved for the vault at the far end of the room, gesturing over his shoulder with a hand.

“Take a seat,” he tapped the dial screen and twisted the lights over to the _omega_ symbol, then reversed it back to _alpha_.  “At the table.”

Bucky had been in his fair share of laboratories in his time, but none of them had ever felt like this. It felt warm and well used.  Clean, but haphazardly, in a way that suggested someone enjoyed their work here.  It didn't reek of disinfectant or the ozone of electricity.

Somehow all of this only made him more uneasy. This was new ground, in an unfamiliar place with a man whose motives were not immediately apparent.

Bucky looked back at the door, weighed up his chances of breaking through the glass and decided he'd not get far enough to warrant the effort just yet.  He could bide his time.  Slowly, as if expecting some kind of restraint to follow, he settled where Stark had directed, spine ram rod straight, eyes not leaving Stark as he moved by the vault.

The metal door opened with a _hiss_ , and Tony ducked slightly so that he could reach back into the vault.  He grunted when he lifted the bundle up; wrapped into an odd cloth that looked like chainmail but shimmered like pure light.  Shouldering the vault door shut, Tony carried the wrapped piece over before setting it on the table on Barnes’ left.  He huffed out a tight breath, shoving his unusually unstyled hair away from his face and crossed the room again to pluck up a tool kit full of precise looking instruments. 

Bucky's stare very quickly moved to the object Stark set down, eyes narrowing as he attempted to figure out what on earth it was.  Nothing good, if the sharp looking things Stark was playing with were anything to go by.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked, more of a demand than anything else, the fingers of his right hand coming to rub at the loose hemline at the collar of his shirt, so as to expend some of the nervous energy he was storing up.

Tony blinked up at him, almost as if realizing he was there for the first time since entering the lab, and he cleared his throat and set the tools on the table before dragging the second chair at the table closer to where Barnes was sat.  “Fulfilling contractual obligations,” he said.  “You mind if I take that protective sleeve off?  I need to see what kind of joint I’m dealing with.”

Bucky seemed to shy away from him a little, just barely, heart pounding in his chest.  He made no move to comply just yet, tamping down on the knee jerk reaction to do what he was told.  "A contract with who?"

“T’Challa,” Tony toyed with a long, thin titanium instrument that glowed a burning blue at the very end.  “You know, big black guy.  King of Wakanda.  Dresses up like a cat sometimes.”

Bucky leveled him an unimpressed look, but the mention of the king did let him relax a little.  Reaching up with his other hand to work the cap off the stump of his old arm, he tossed it aside onto the table top.  A mess of shattered metal, blackened and blued from a blast, stuck out from inside his shirt in all manner of ways.

It actually garnered a wince from the man sitting in front of him, though that expression quickly schooled into something a lot more professional as he leaned in.  He dragged his chair even closer, noting absently the way Barnes tensed as Tony pressed into his space, but he was too focused now to bother attempting to assuage the evident discomfiture.

“FRIDAY, lights at 100%, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” A voice said overhead, and the lights brightened considerably as Tony canted his head, brows pinching.

Bucky looked up to where the voice had come from, brows drawing skyward.

“You get any sensation from that?  Ghost pains?  Shocks?” Tony asked, twisting slightly to dig around in the tool kit on the table between them.

There was a long moment of hesitation before Bucky responded. "Sometimes.  Aches in the cold. You get used to it."

Stark hummed like he knew exactly what pains he was talking about.  “And if I touch it?”

"It's only the connection that hurts if you mess with it." Bucky told him, reaching up to pull back part of his sleeve, a line of raised scaring marking the line between skin and metal.

Tony blinked rapidly at the sight, nose wrinkling in distaste at the sloppy connection job, but he knew that it would be bone-anchored.  “Let me guess, titanium osseointegration?” he asked, and did not wait for a response before reaching out to touch his fingers along the seam where metal met flesh.  “Could you remove your shirt?”

Bucky flinched when he felt fingers connect with his shoulder, a violent shudder running through him, though it was more out of reflex than it was from pain.  He wasn't entirely sure what osseointergration was, but had a feeling Stark didn't need an answer.  With halting movements, he did as asked, a little clumsy as he tried to get his shirt off over his left arm.

The second he was bare, Tony was back in his space, examining first the connection between what remained of the arm and then the damaged remains.  He pursed his lips, grabbing blindly for something two pronged and slim, pressing a button that had light sparking and glowing between the rounded ends of the tool. 

“I’m going to clean out some of the damaged connections.  You shouldn’t feel anything but maybe a little pressure.”  Tony muttered, ignoring the frown that was aimed his way.  “If there’s pain, hit me or something.”

"That shouldn't be a problem."  Bucky told him flatly, head turned to look at what he was doing.  If it brought him any discomfort, there was nothing in his expression that would indicate it.

Tony might’ve snorted, but he was already absorbed with cleaning up the fried connector ends.  “FRIDAY.  My needle.  Keep it low.”

“Any requests, Mr. Stark?”

“Something mellow.”

The rhythm that filled the lab was a steady one, though not at all what might be considered mellow.  It was not overly loud, just enough to be heard, but not enough to cover any sounds either man might make or conversation that was unlikely to occur. 

Expression intent, Tony shaved off the scorched end of the connectors with a deft precision.  His brows were drawn tight over his eyes, mouth set in a firm line.  The hand that wasn’t deftly wielding the odd laser that eased through the mesh of metal tissue that made up the innards of Bucky’s arm like it was butter had been placed gently where skin met prosthetic. 

Bucky didn't move a great deal when Stark worked on his arm, although his shoulder gave an occasional twitch as the connections where severed.  He'd never had a great deal of sensation from the limb, but there was sometimes a slight push or pressure somewhere inside his shoulder.

The music at least covered the tension between them with something oddly pleasant.  Bucky didn't recognize the song, but it had a flow to it that he found enjoyable enough.  Made for a nice distraction at the very least.

“I think,” Tony muttered and set the tool aside after switching it off, taking pains to give one more thorough examination of the mess of wires and cables now in much better array than they had been.  “That we’re ready.”

"Will it just hook in?" Bucky asked after a moment, a little wary.

"Uh," Tony leaned back, finally meeting his gaze.  "No, actually.  The synthetic neurotransmitters will attached to the connectors that are already built in to the osseointegration of your shoulder.  There will be a bit of tinkering.”

Then he leaned over to the side and carefully unwrapped the bundle that lay there.  Beneath the soft but durable material, a new arm lay in reflection to Bucky’s human one.  The end looked a little more complex, and when Tony lifted it, he showed the delicate core that ran from shoulder to fingertips, branching where necessary.  There were a number of small ports where joints might be, and from within them there was a dull glow.  The exterior was sleek and reminiscent of the very same one Stark had blown off, but the metal itself seemed more flexible.  Less rigid. 

Tony whistled softly and a bot that had been sitting idle in the corner whirred to life and puttered over.  Its long arm reached out across the table, bracing on the surface with a three clawed hand outstretched upward.  Tony placed the mass of the arm in the robot’s hold, patting the thing with an absent fondness before plucking up the same long, skinny instrument he’d been playing with before Bucky had removed the protective sleeve.

“Might feel some pressure.  Maybe a pinch or two.”  Tony mumbled, but he was standing now and leaning over where the prosthetic would connect with Bucky’s shoulder, a pair of pliers delicately extracted a wire that glowed white when it was touched.  “Try to stay still unless I hurt you.” 

Bucky peered at him for a moment, brow ticking up a little, curious in a way he would never admit aloud.  His breath caught a little when he saw the new arm light up from within.  It was familiar enough that he didn't feel strange looking at it, and yet it was different enough that his skin didn't crawl at the idea of having it fitted.  It didn't look like a weapon in the way his old one had.  He shifted a little where he sat, repositioning his shoulder before Stark began working again.

The slender tool he’d been playing with turned out to be some kind of soldering iron, though not any kind he’d ever seen before.  It hummed a constant blue, but when Tony connected the fibers together, burned white just like the strands within the new arm.  It would press and pull with the stress of the new connection, but once bound settled easily.  The thick core connected like a hook latch with the rod that was already imbedded into the bone of his body, and it caused a bit of jerk as weight settled into place there after months of absence.

Bucky watched with guarded interest as his new arm was fitted, the light of the ports casting shadows across his face. He'd never paid attention when his arm was being repaired before, and for the first time he had to spare a moment to take in the complexities of the task.  There was a tremor that ran through him when the arm was pushed into place, the kind that reverberated through his bones.

When that was in place, the rest of the fibers and connectors were soldered together with a deft precision.  It looked like a webbing of light between where the base ended and the new arm began by the time he was finished.  The robot whirred again softly where it was still bracing the arm up, but Stark told it to stay still for a moment longer as he checked the measurements and the weight. 

The little robot buzzed in discontent and caught Bucky’s attention, and for a second his lips twitched up into a fleeting smile.

Tony plucked up another pair of pliers, sitting back down in order to get a better view on the topmost port.  He reached in, twisted something, and the entire arm twitched as the electric energy within hummed to life.  At first, it glowed white—so bright it nearly hurt to look at—before settling back down to that dull blue.  Then, there was a wash of sensation. 

Bucky’s breath caught, lips parting a little as he gave an experimental flex of his shoulder; watching as the smooth metal moved as he willed it, feeling the difference between the soft heat of Tony's hand, and the hard metal of the robot supporting its weight.  Even the minute sensation of air from the vents in the ceiling washing over his arm could be felt, and the quiet thrum of whatever it was that was powering this thing was a steady but comforting constant.

His eyes darted between the arm and Stark several times, somewhere between shock and awe.

“Flex your fingers for me,” Tony said. 

It took Bucky a moment to realize he was being spoken to, jerking his head back up again from where he’d been staring down at the metal plating.  With a little reluctance, he moved his fingers slowly, each moving with a familiar metallic whirring sound.

“Good,” Tony nodded.  “Now make a fist.”

Bucky's fingers flexed and then clenched together, slow and even.  He could feel the smooth metal of his own palm against his fingertips; sense the cool of it.

“Any pain?” Tony asked as he eased his hand up along the underside, pushing Dumm-E aside in order to cradle the elbow joint against his palm and taking Bucky’s wrist with the other.  “Slow bend up, like you’re curling weights.” 

It was incredibly strange, to feel the warmth and texture of someone else's hand.  He couldn't recall the last time he'd had that kind of perception in his left arm.  Without hesitation Bucky did as asked, something like wonder in his eyes as he watched the new limb bend and flex.

"It's lighter than the other one."

“That’s the vibranium,” Tony muttered idly, ignoring the look he received, guiding him through bends and rotations.  “And the core is less of a sloppy mess of metal and more of a compounded energy to help with the artificial synaptic firing.  No pain, though?”

"No pain." Bucky confirmed, eyeing him a little warily, as if he expected something undesirable to follow his answer.

“Good,” Tony inched a bit closer.  “This might uh… feel weird.”

He braced his hand around the top of where the prosthetic began and pressed it upward, the mesh of lights and wires slipping easily under the metal plating.  The lines of the base and the arm met, the new prosthetic overlapping the plating at Bucky’s shoulder before Tony gave a small twist and the thing _hissed_ and twitched again, locking completely into place. 

Tony pulled lightly, testing the connection, and then released him when he found no issue.  “How’s that?”

Bucky grunted a little, but otherwise made no indication that it hurt him.  Bucky sat up a little straighter, taking his arm off the bench, rolling his shoulder and testing its range of motion properly.  He felt whole again, having something to balance out the weight of his other side.

Slowly, he rose to his feet again, the subtle weight difference not throwing him off nearly as much as not having an arm had.  "Yeah.  Yeah, it's good."

Tony pressed to his feet as well, gesturing to the prosthetic.  “Hold out your arm for me.  I’m going to test the resistance strength.”

Bucky eyed him dubiously, a faint trickle of his previous concerns creeping in again.  Perhaps he'd been to trusting, in letting Stark fit him a new arm, even if he knew T'Challa wouldn't give him the task unless he wasn't out for some kind of warped revenge.

He moved his arm to hold it out from his body, the mechanical _flit-whir_ a comfort after so long without it.

“I’m sure this won’t be a problem, but don’t let me push your arm down.”  Tony said and placed both palms flat against Bucky’s bicep and forearm, pressing with increasing weight and not managing to move it an inch.  “Okay, now hold it out in front of you.  Bent with your fist up.”

Stark didn't hit as hard outside of his suit. Bucky made a mental note of the fact, stored it away and let him attempt to break the lock of his arm. 

He tugged and pulled for a moment before stepping back, his entire face shrugging like he was impressed with his own work.  Stepping aside, he whistled for Dumm-E again, and the robot hit the table by accident in its rush to get to him.  It dropped a ball into his outstretched hand, and Tony tossed it up a couple of times before turning back to Bucky, his brows up.

“I’m assuming you know how to catch things?”

Bucky gave him an incredibly dry look, a brow hitching a little in quiet judgement, jerking his head a little in indication for him to continue.

Throwing the ball his way, Tony hummed as Bucky caught it easily.  “Now toss it back.”

So he did, drawing an arm back like a baseball pitcher, putting a little more force into it than strictly necessary.  Tony had to catch it with both hands, and hissed slightly at the impact.  Shaking out his left, Tony bounced the ball back into the depths of the lab, and the robot hovering at his side went zipping after it.

“Alright, looks pretty good.” Tony said and turned away from him in order to gather up the tools still scattered on the table.  “You’re free to go.  Might be a bit off-center for a while, so I’d walk careful.”

Bucky stilled completely where he stood, eyes tracking Stark as he moved across the room.  He looked almost lost for a moment, until his eyes narrowed again.  He had to be missing something. There was no way Stark was done with him, contractual obligation or not.

"That's it?"

“Unless you need me to call Stars-and-Spangles down here to help you back upstairs, yes.”  Tony didn’t even look at him, patting Dumm-E as the robot rolled over.  “That’s it.”

"I.... I don't…" Bucky started, brows furrowed in deep confusion.

Stark just kept getting more and more complicated.  Slowly, Bucky made to retrieve his shirt, pulling it back over his head, fabric slipping over vibranium without catching. Deciding it might be best not to push his luck, Bucky made for the door, pausing for a second before he left.

Without turning around, he spoke, a little rough but ardently genuine.  "Thank you."

There was a clatter, but Bucky did not turn to see what it was.  The door slid shut behind him when he left.

Where he was still standing at the table, Tony clutched at his hand where he’d caught his palm with the sharp end of the pliers in a startled moment of surprise, staving off the very faint trickle of blood as he swallowed past a thickness in his throat.  He stared blindly down at the toolset for a while, ignoring the way Dumm-E whirred and nudged him.

“Sir?” FRIDAY’s voice intoned with some amount of concern. 

He blinked and licked his lips, giving his head a small shake.  “I’m fine, FRIDAY.  Monitor tall, dark, and brooding to make sure he makes it upstairs okay.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Lights down to 60%.  Put us on lockdown.”  Tony said as he paced over to the area that had been projecting schematics early and tapping them open again.  “And turn up the music.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Tony worked, Ram Jam’s “Black Betty” blasted through the lab.  He played with the blueprint quietly, adjusting ratios here and there, and tried not to think about how grateful Barnes had sounded when he left.

* * *

 

When Steve had finally finished his run that morning, after spending a good time of it ribbing Sam about falling out of shape since they’d come back to the states, he was still on a high as he took the stairwell up from the levels appropriated for the team’s health.  He’d worked up a sweat and felt in dire need of a shower before he went and faced anyone else for the day. 

The suite was empty when he arrived, Bucky’s book discarded on the low table by the couch in the living space they shared.  Steve hadn’t paid it much mind, padding past and heading for his bedroom.  He knew that Bucky was probably out walking the spaces of the building where they were allowed, but he hoped that perhaps he had been bold enough to go up to breakfast without Steve at his side. 

Bucky had been so distant, so skittish, about all of the others.  Steve understood it; didn’t comment on it.  But that didn’t make the haunted look he’d seen on his friend’s face more than once ache any less.

He’d toed his sneakers off and had been about to pull his shirt up and over his head when he heard the door to the suite open.  Padding back out from where he’d been halfway to his bathroom, Steve peered out and came to a stuttering halt upon spotting the sleek new arm attached at Bucky’s shoulder.  Brows drawing together, Steve stepped out, something about the pinch of Bucky’s expression sending worrying churn turning low in Steve’s belly.

“Buck?” he took slow steps forward.  “You okay?”

The sound of Steve's voice seemed to break Bucky out of his cyclic disquiet, though the expression on his face didn't ease back. "I-- Yeah.  Yeah, I'm fine.  Just… really, really fucking confused."

“I’m assuming this has to do with the new arm?” Steve gestured to it, his own face still set in lines of concern.  “Where did _that_ come from?”

"Stark built it for me," Bucky told him, coming closer, still in the process of inspecting the limb for himself, lifting it and twisting it around. "He just… turned up a while ago, told me to follow him, and put it on for me."

Steve face twisted for a moment, but he stopped just before Bucky, eyes on the delicate workings of the arm.  “Tony did this?”

"Apparently T'Challa made him do it.  Somehow."  Bucky said, flexing his hand in the space between them.

Steve frowned and reached out, fingers tentative on the metal.  “Does it… I mean, does it feel alright?”

Before he could stop himself, Bucky was smiling at him, the awestruck kind that came with new discovery.  He could feel the texture, and the heat of Steve's hand against his arm in a way that he never thought he'd be able to again. "Yeah.  Yeah, it's great."

“That’s…” Steve glanced up at him.  “Good.  That’s good, then.”

There was a soft _whirr-click_ as Bucky moved his hand to catch Steve's, seeking and curious.  "I can feel everything."

Steve swallowed once, thickly, his fingers curling almost delicately around Bucky's.  The metal under his palm was cool, but not in a manner that was unpleasant.  It seemed to hum, almost, from within.

"That's good too?" Steve asked, unsure and tentative.

Bucky huffed out a little sound; delighted.  It felt strange, foreign to his ears, as it passed his lips. "Yeah.  Yeah, it is."

"I'm glad," Steve breathed, ducking his head slightly to catch Bucky's gaze where it was so intent on the way their hands were pressed together.  "I'm happy for you, Buck."

Bucky finally tore his eyes away to look up at him, expression soft, and warm in a way it hadn't been for too long.  "I don't know how he did it, but I like it."

Steve nodded slowly, jaw working before he reached up with his free hand and cradled the base of Bucky's head with a tender reluctance.  He squeezed, smile small, something a lot like elation humming in his chest—because for the first time in a long time, his best friend was happy, and nothing could have overjoyed him more.

Tentatively, Bucky pulled his hand away from Steve's, silver fingers moving to brush at the strong line of his jaw, experimental and ever so gentle. "You need a shave."

Steve barked out a laugh, surprised and pleased all at once.  There weren't words for how good it felt; the touch at his jaw both familiar and foreign, the tentativity of it sweet.  He shuffled closer, pressing into Bucky's space until he could rest their foreheads together, something light and warm unfurling beneath his breastbone.

"Yeah," Steve muttered. "Well, you could use one too."

* * *

 

Both Barton and Lang’s family left sometime after T’Challa took his leave back to Wakanda and just before Pepper flew back to Malibu in the company jet.  It had made breakfast a bit more quiet, a bit more calm, but the liveliness of bright, young faces was absent—and so was that energy that had accompanied them. 

In the early hours of dawn, there were very few who occupied the kitchen in the suite, which was why Tony had taken to invading the space during that time.  He had run in to Wanda once, the day after Pepper had left, and she had taken one long look at him over the rim of a teacup, taking in the haphazardness of his hair and dress, the darkness under his eyes, and had walked out of the kitchen without a word.  It had hurt, but Tony had a feeling he deserved far more and she had taken pity upon him.

Since then, he’d taken to checking to see if it was as empty as he liked it to be before brewing himself a very large mug of coffee.  This morning was no different; though he hissed when he picked up the cup, the shallow cut on the heel of his left palm throbbing against the hot porcelain.  With a wince, he set the mug down to shake the sting out of his hand. 

In his pocket, his phone chimed.  Digging it out, he glanced at the screen and a wry, crooked grin flit over his mouth.

Pressing it to his ear, he crossed one arm over his chest and leaned a hip against the edge of the counter.  “Hello, dear.”

“ _I’m sorry, I’m looking for a Mr. Stank_?”

Eyes closing, Tony huffed out a laugh.  “Go for Stank.”

“ _How’s it going, man?_ ” Rhodey asked, voice tight with amusement.  “ _Haven’t heard from you_.”

“Pepper told you to call?”

Rhodey sighed.  “ _Pepper told me to call_.”

“Well, thanks for checking in on me, mom.  The party is going great.  I’m about to braid Becky’s hair.”  Tony muttered drolly.

“ _Fuck you_ , _Tony_.” Rhodey said with a fair amount of fondness.

“You kiss Roberta with that mouth?”

“ _Alright, I get it.  You’re fine and you’re busy and you’re probably running yourself ragged.”_ Rhodey replied.  “ _Just remember to take a break for sleep_.”

“Will do, Colonel Rhodes, sir.”  The elevator doors off toward the back wall of the suite slid open, and both Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson came walking out, fresh from a workout; Tony glanced down at his coffee, lips pressing thin.  “I’ll call later, Rhodey.  Stop worrying.”

“ _That’s impossible_.  _Call me_.”

“Will do,” Tony said and hung up, shoving his phone back into the pocket of the same jeans he’d been wearing yesterday, and plucking up his mug with the good hand.  “Morning,” he greeted.

"Morning." Sam replied, amicable but not warm as he might have been with someone else.

He clapped Steve on the shoulder, and took his leave, making a beeline for the coffee machine.  Steve took a little longer to pass through, looking Tony over, though there was more curiosity than judgement in his gaze.  Tony nodded at him, stepping aside before he began to retreat, dallying over toward the elevator.

"Stark,” Steve called.

Tony faltered, twisting to face him.  “Rogers.”

"You've made yourself scarce," Steve remarked, making his way over, although he was careful to keep a little distance between them.

“I think I recall a conversation about keeping out of the way,” Tony shrugged, though there was a rigidity about it.  “I’ve been busy.”

"Yeah.  I heard."  Steve said, expression softening a little.

“Contractual obligation to get my hands on some vibranium.”  Tony said, tone sharp, smile sharper; almost defensive, of all things.  “I didn’t do it out of the kindness of my big, greedy heart.”

Steve raised his brows, disbelief written all over his face as he stepped closer to him, head bowed a little so he could get a good look at Tony.  "You just keep telling yourself that."

Something in Tony’s expression gave, but he was quick to look away, nodding his head toward the elevator door.  “If we’re quite finished?”

As Tony moved to walk away, Steve caught him by the arm, something intent and driven in his gaze as he looked down at Tony.  "Thank you.  This means a lot to us."

Stiff in his hold, Tony took one breath.  Then another. 

He looked up at Steve, coffee mug clenched tight between his hands.  "Don't mention it," he said.

Steve held him there for a moment longer, something vulnerable in his expression before he pulled away, as if nothing had been said.  Jaw clenched, Tony watched him walk away, over to where Sam had poured an extra cup of coffee.  He cleared his throat past the thickness that had settled there, turned away, and padded the rest of the way to the elevator. 

It was only when the doors were finally shut between them that Tony let himself lean heavily against one of the paneled walls.  Head hanging, he breathed in measures and scrubbed a slow hand over his face. 

“Sir?” FRIDAY chimed politely.

“The labs, please, FRIDAY.”  He mumbled. 

“Of course, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert gay seal here*


	5. Chapter 4: Gimme Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wontons heal all wounds.

Tony Stark was a very strange man. This much had become painstakingly obvious to Bucky, who'd become intent on uncovering just what went on in the man’s head.  After having his arm repaired, his curiosity slowly started to outweigh his fear.  A man who had lost so much, who had seen and caused as much destruction as Stark had, had no business going out of his way to help the likes of him.

Stark proved to be elusive.  He would only appear for brief moments, usually to get more coffee in order to fill his seemingly insatiable appetite for the stuff.  Over the few days that had passed, Bucky noticed that Stark didn't change his clothes near enough, given he was at home; that his appearances made his sleep schedule seem somehow more erratic than Bucky's own; and that once he was aware of another person’s presence, of his many guests in the Tower, anywhere he occupied, he would quite quickly and efficiently make himself scarce. 

In the time between Stark's resurfacings, Bucky had become a little more comfortable with his surroundings, venturing out alone where he knew he'd find Steve's friends.  He'd spent several hours one evening in Natasha's company, conversing in low tones about things far distant and done.  He left her presence with several hair ties and a barked command from her to 'get a damn hair cut.’

She'd invited him up to join them for lunch the following day, and with a little coaxing from Steve he went.  They'd ended up ordering takeout after Barton's abysmal attempt to cook.

As he was helping Natasha clean up, Bucky noticed there was a portion remaining and paused, empty cartons in hand, peering at it for a moment.  Even Vision had come to join them, despite the fact that he didn't need to eat.  It seemed almost unfair that their host –however apparently unwilling-- would have to wait until they were gone to skulk out and find something to eat.  If he bothered to make his way up to eat at all.

With the remaining container of pad thai in his hand, Bucky excused himself, ignoring the strange look he knew Steve was giving him.  Some ten minutes later, he ended up outside the glass walls of Stark's lab, peering in to find the man himself hunched over, tinkering with god knows what.

The glass was not fogged over the way it had been when he had first been down here.  Bucky could see right through the walls, to where their host was bent over what might have been an engine if it weren't for all of the mad lights.  Through the glass, there was a steady beat and an odd funky wail of guitar.

Overhead, a polite voice chimed.  "Can I be of any assistance, Mr. Barnes?"

"Nice to meet you, too." Bucky mumbled, although it felt strange to say that to a disembodied voice. "Don't suppose you could let me in there?"

"You brought food for Mr. Stark?" FRIDAY asked.

"I did." Bucky replied. "Ain't fair he's gotta wait down here cause he thinks Steve'll tear his head off if he comes up."

There was a lengthy pause. Then the door unlatched and slid open.

"Thank you." Bucky said.

His brows furrowed a little at the strange music that played over Stark's speakers, but he made no effort to comment as the singer’s voice wailed through the room.  It wasn't until Bucky was nearly beside the hoist Stark was using that Bucky realized that Stark might not have noticed he had company.  He paused for a second, and then cleared his throat in effort to announce himself.

The man startled, jerking slightly and twisting something obviously too far.  The machine dangling from the hoist whirred high and loud, the light glowing a dangerous orange through the cracks.  Tony fumbled, lurching forward to scramble and wrench a bolt loose, killing the power.  It sputtered, light dimming, and Tony spit a quiet curse.

"FRIDAY, kill the music." 

"Of course, sir."

Instantly the music came to an abrupt halt, and Tony leveled Bucky an exasperated look.  "Can I help you?"

Bucky met Stark's gaze steadily for a second before he set the container of food on the bench between them, nudging it over to him. "You missed lunch."

Tonguing the inside of his cheek, Tony glanced between the package and Bucky.  Setting the socket wrench aside with a clatter, Tony dragged the box close by the hook of a finger, eyeing the pad thai inside before looking back up at Bucky with a narrowed gaze.

"FRIDAY remind me to adjust your admittance protocols," he said, then canted his head.  "Thanks for the grub, Prince Caspian.  There something wrong with your arm?  You need me to fix something?"

Bucky shook his head, taking a step away from the table.  "No.  No, it's fine.  Works a treat."

"...you sure?" Tony frowned.

Bucky nodded once, watching him intently from across the bench.  Neither man made to move.

After a long lull, Bucky sighed.  "Just eat the damn food."

Tony's brows flew up.  "What? You gonna make like a watchdog and make sure I finish all my vegetables?"

Bucky didn't waver, despite Stark's scathing tone. "Maybe."

Laughing, a sharp and almost bitter sound, Tony plopped down unceremoniously into a rolling chair and sat down at the table.  He gestured to another, the same one Bucky had sat in a week previous, and broke the chopsticks that Bucky had brought down with the food.

"Have a seat then."

Bucky hesitated for a moment before he pulled the chair over, tense as he settled in, still not entirely sure where he stood.  It was a bit like standing at the edge of a dark lake, waiting for any movement or sign that there was unrest beneath a glassy surface. 

It was absurdly quiet as Tony dug into the pad thai, slurping up a noodle or two.  He was surprised to find himself so hungry, but when he glanced at his watch, he made a soft sound.  He'd been working for fourteen hours straight; it was a wonder FRIDAY hadn't tried to remind him earlier.

Between bites, he eyed Bucky.  He leaned back in his chair, cradling the takeout box to his chest, and made a vague gesture with his chopsticks.

"How's it working?  Any hiccups?" he asked.

The silence didn't bother Bucky, arms rested against his thighs as he watched over Stark with a passing interest.  It looked like it had been a while since he'd gotten a half decent meal, longer since he'd slept.  It struck Bucky strangely, to find him so different from the man he'd encountered in the laboratory that had been so righteously full of rage.

"It's fine."  Bucky shrugged, left arm whirring out a sigh with the gesture. He didn't tell Stark about the way it felt when he walked, or what had transpired with Steve when he'd first bought it back to him.  He glanced down at his hand, fingers twitching a little.  "Works like it should."

“Yeah?” Tony swayed back and forth in the chair, the wheels squeaking softly.  “How’s the sensory recognition working?  Want any upgrades?  Could probably tweak with the software, have it pick up sensation easier.  Maybe add a cup holder.”

Bucky eyed him a little dubiously, head tilting to the side a bit. "Why would I want that? I have two hands."

Tony shrugged.  “Just an idea.  Because honestly I’m still trying to figure out exactly what you’re doing down here.”

"I can leave if you'd rather." Bucky said evenly.

“No, no.  I figure if you were down here to break me, you’d have done it by now, since you’ve got that whole Ivan Drago thing going for you.”  Tony bit back, pausing to slurp up another noodle.  “But I like puzzles.  I’ll piece it together eventually.”

Bucky cocked his head again, eyes narrowing.  "Ivan who?"

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony ignored the question and the way his skin prickled under such scrutiny.  “So what is this?  Gratitude?  Recompense?  Guilt?”

Bucky shrugged, stiffer this time. "Curiosity, maybe."

Something in Tony’s face twitched.  Lips pursing, he set the food down and snatched up the socket wrench he’d discarded, carting backward to where he’d been working before.  He eyed Bucky again, for a long second, and then turned to the eight-cylinder. 

“Curiosity,” he muttered, almost to himself, glancing at the other man through the corner of his vision briefly as he snorted out another brittle laugh.  “That’s funny.  Cute, even.”

The tentative truce they'd fallen into wavered, and Bucky knew he'd probably pushed too far coming here. He got up to leave with an eerie kind of quiet, passing out of Tony's peripheral without another word.

Jaw working, Tony tried to focus on the mechanics in front of him.  His mouth twitched, lips thin, and just as he heard the lab doors hiss open, something welled up in him.

“Barnes,” he barked, not looking up from the engine.

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head a little to glance back at Stark, the line of his shoulders taut.  "What?"

“Thanks.  For the food.”  He gestured over his shoulder with the wrench; he kept his eyes forward, kept his voice level.  “And uh… For what it’s worth, I know you… I know it wasn’t your _choice_ , doing what you did.  So.  Sorry.  Or something.”

Bucky reeled, turning sharply around.  Stark wasn’t looking at him; refused to.  Something uncomfortable crawled down his spine, and abject confusion colored his expression. Stark couldn't possibly be sorry.  Not after what he’d done. 

Bucky didn't spare a moment for a reply, retreating back into the elevator so fast it was as if he'd been burned. The doors closed and Bucky pressed himself up into the corner of the box, the cold metal of the walls sharp against his spine.  It brought some amount of relief.

* * *

 

Natasha was not surprised to see someone else in the elevator.  She _was_ surprised to see it was Bucky, pressed back against the corner, head hung so that his hair hid his face.  He was near trembling; his eyes were glazed; his breath was shallow.  Instantly, tension filled her.

Shoulders drawing back, she eyed him for a moment, stepping into the elevator with no little amount of caution.  She did not touch him.  She did not reach for him.  The doors slid shut behind her.

“Bucky?” she asked.

Nothing.

Wetting her lips, she broadened her stance, fingers loosely curling at her sides.  “ _Barnes_ ,” she tried again. 

Not even a twitch.

“Cолдат,” she barked, heart racing in her chest.

The sound of such a familiar Russian command broke Bucky out of whatever trance he'd slipped into, a spike of panic driving down his spine, head jerking up only to find Natasha staring at him.  He blinked a few times, eyes darting around the elevator.  This wasn't his floor.  How long had he been standing there?

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, but her presence did nothing to quiet his mind, still racing from before.  "What're you doing here?"

“I could ask you the same thing,” she drolled, eyeing him a moment.  “I was about to head down to the gym.  Where were _you_ going?”

Bucky paused for a second, as if he had to remember where he was going himself before he answered. "I don't-- Back to my room, I think."

“Better question,” Natasha reached over and pressed the button for first his floor, and then for the gym.  “Where were you coming from?”

"I went to see Stark," he replied.

The elevator kicked into motion.  Moving over, Natasha leaned against the wall next to him, one brow going up.

“Didn’t go well?” she asked.

Bucky shook his head.  "Did you think it would, considering?"

Natasha practically shrugged with her entire face, gaze not leaving his.  “Well, no one’s bleeding.  I think you did pretty well, actually.  Especially if you were handling Tony solo.”

"He forgave me." Bucky mumbled, lost and utterly confused as he stared at her, as if she might explain how such a thing could come to be.

“He…?” Natasha blinked, a faint wrinkle forming between her brows.  “How do you mean?”

"I brought him food and then he told me he knew it wasn't my fault and then he said he was sorry."  Bucky elaborated, a frantic edge to his voice, right hand creeping up to curl over the back of his neck, his fingers catching in long strands of hair.

“Oh.”

The elevator doors slid open.  Lurching forward, Natasha hit the close-door button until they eased shut again.

“You brought him food?” she asked.

Bucky paused for a second before he nodded. "He doesn't come up to eat much."

“So you just decided to… bring him food.”  Natasha leaned back against the elevator wall, arms crossing over her chest, wondering when exactly Bucky had begun watching Tony so closely and why.  “And then he apologized.”

Bucky nodded again.  "He shouldn't have.  I don't understand him."

That earned him a bright laugh of disbelief. 

“ _No one_ understands him.  He’s partying one minute and saving lives the next.  He’s arrogant, self-destructive, and ruthless when he’s backed into a corner.  Doesn’t handle rejection well.  Or betrayal.”  Natasha examined Bucky again, taking a deep breath, her expression sobering.  “But he’s a good man.  Or, at least, he wants to _do_ good.  And if he… feels he’s wronged someone, he does _try_ to make amends.”

The elevator came to another slow stop.  The door slid open again.  This time, Natasha moved toward them, stopping just in the threshold to give Bucky a long look.

“But if he apologized, he meant it.”  She told him, voice low.  “Maybe that means you did something right.”

Bucky peered at her for a second, mulling over what he'd heard.  Logically, he knew she was right. Stark was trying to make amends, even if he was going about it in a strange way.  It didn't ease the discomfort he felt, somewhere buried deep.

"There's got to be something I'm missing."

“Maybe there is,” Natasha shrugged a single shoulder, her grin crooked when she offered it.  “You going to let that stop you?”

Before Bucky could get a response out, Natasha stepped out and the elevator door slide closed, sealing him in again before it lurched into motion once more.

* * *

 

The next afternoon, Tony was nursing a headache and testing a very tenuous patience.  He was leaned back in one of the rolling chairs, right hand in a silver glove made of a new titanium alloy blend that he’d been testing in the lab for weeks.  He adjusted the fit on his wrist with a screwdriver, lips pursed and foot taping arhythmically.  In his ear, there was a bud, and the voice droning over it had left him more on edge than he’d felt since before arranging for the Avengers to come to the Tower.

“ _If we press this issue any further, we’ll have to take it to court_.”

Tony breathed out heavily through his nose.  His night has been restless despite actually having crawled into a bed instead of dozing off in his office or in one of the lab chairs.  It made the feeble hold he had on his tolerance for incompetency even more fragile.  He twisted the screw too tight and winced.

“Court is not an issue.”

“ _The claims won’t stand up in front of a panel of—“_

“My claim over the Iron Man technology has.  Why wouldn’t this one?”

“ _… with all due respect, Mr. Stark, that was_ before.  _If you tried to make that same claim now, you’d get laughed off of Capitol Hill.”_  

“I doubt that,” Tony muttered.

There was a sharp, resounding knock on the glass panel entrance to the lab.  Tony glanced over, going very still when he spotted Barnes standing there, plastic bag of takeout dangling from his metal fingers.

The frown on the other man’s face was a cautious one.  Like he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be standing there.  Tony flexed the fingers in the prototype glove, loosening the wrist joint.  Barnes lifted a slow, pointed brow.

In his ear, the lawyer chattered on about the dangers of establishing such a claim that contradicted settlements that belonged to more than one country.  Tony only hesitated for a moment longer.

“FRIDAY, let him in.”  The doors slid open as soon as he said it, and Tony brought his bare hand up to the bud in his ear.  “Listen, I don’t care what it takes or what you seem to _think_ will happen.  Push the claims through.  Get it done.”

“ _Yes, Mr. Stark—_ “

Tony ripped the earbud out with a disdainful sneer and tossed it aside onto the table.  “So what’d you pilfer for me this time, Captain Hook?”

"Barton bought calzones." Bucky replied, eyeing the ear piece with some suspicion before he returned his gaze to Tony.

After much deliberation he decided that maybe Natasha was right.  Maybe by coming here, by doing this, he was doing something good.  Though Bucky had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to end much better than yesterday when he caught sight of the look on Tony's face.

“Calzones, huh?” Tony dragged a hand through his hair in a distracted kind of irritation, still damp from the late start he’d gotten that morning, before gesturing with the gloved one to the tabletop. 

Bucky nodded once, depositing the bag on the bench before he took a step back.  "They're half decent, for inside out pizza."

“A ringing endorsement from a kid straight out of Brooklyn,” Tony muttered, almost to himself before finally looking up at him, holding up his head with his hand half over his mouth.  “You gonna stay and watch again?” 

Bucky didn't respond for a moment, but his lips twitched up a little.  Kid from Brooklyn indeed.  "I might.”

Sighing, Tony nodded and pulled the bag to himself, unwrapping the styrofoam box and popping it open with a soft, pleased hum.  He rummaged around in the plastic bag again, plucking out a plastic fork and cutting into the fresh baked dough.  The smell was heavy with garlic and pepper.  Taking a rather large bite, Tony made another pleased noise, savoring it before swallowing and pointing at the ooze of cheese and meat with his fork. 

“Barton ordered this?” he asked.

Bucky hummed out an affirmative, eyeing him curiously.  Stark somehow managed to seem more worn today but oddly less tense.  "To make up for yesterday's debacle,” he said.

“That man has set fire to more of my property than I have,” Tony huffed to himself, shaking his head, before frowning up at Bucky.  “If you’re staying, take a seat.  I get enough people hovering around me outside of the lab.”

Bucky blinked a few times at him before he took a seat, settling stiffly into the chair, ignoring the dull ache his body gave in protest.  He was convinced that at this point the bags under his eyes probably had bags. "Wasn't a fire.  He exploded an egg in the microwave."

Tony nearly choked on his calzone. 

"Reeked something awful." Bucky added, lips twitching a little in amusement.

Coughing, Tony rubbed at his chest, fighting the wry smile that threatened to brighten his face.  “Who the hell let him in the kitchen?”

"He volunteered," Bucky told him, shoulders hunching over a little as he started to relax a little.

Tony nodded, leaning back in his seat again, calzone steaming on the table.  He plucked up the screwdriver he’d discarded and worked the gauntlet loose until it began to collapse away from his hand. 

He set it aside without another word, taking up the fork again in order to cut off another bite.  As he chewed, he eyed Bucky, one brow up.  When he caught Bucky staring back, he quickly glanced down at his meal. 

“How’s the arm?” he asked.  “Your balance okay?”

"I'm used to it now."  Bucky said, rolling his shoulder a little.  "Moves better than the other one. Takes less effort."

“You try testing the durability of it, yet?”

Bucky shook his head.  "Does an okay job on the dishes, though."

The smaller man looked up at him, brows nearly up to his hairline, something bright and amused in his eyes—though it was gone as quick as it was there.  “You should take it to the gym.  Go a few rounds with a punching bag.”

"It's durable enough." Bucky declared with an edge vehemence.

For heavy second, Tony went still and regarded him.  He looked like there was something burning at the tip of his tongue, though he did not voice it.  Chewing the inside of his cheek, Tony nodded once and turned his eyes elsewhere.  He took another bite of his calzone before shutting the styrofoam box and pushing it away.

Pulling the gauntlet to himself, he rolled slightly to the right and slid something slim and translucent from the pocket of his jeans.  He tapped it to the table, lights projecting up from it, and a holographic schematic of wiring and metal blueprints hovered under his careful consideration. 

“Thanks for the food,” he said after a moment, adjusting something in the holo and squinting slightly.  “FRIDAY, could you put on Santana’s 1999 album?”

“Of course, sir.”

A heavy melody began, guitar wailing in a unique way with a Latin beat kicking behind it.  It was an odd combination of big band rhythm with a rock cadence. 

It was also a dismissal. 

Bucky made no effort to get up from where he sat, watching Tony from across the table.  The sight of the gauntlet had his instincts prickling somewhere in the back of his mind, and he assessed it before deeming it to be of little threat.  If Stark wanted to try something, he would have already.  

The music was different.  Better than it had been yesterday, and before long Bucky found one of his thumbs tapping in time against his thigh.

After adjusting a few of the plans in the blueprint, Tony cast a dry look over at Bucky.  The larger man was watching Tony’s hands and the way they twisted the lights being projected up for him, then followed them to where he placed his fingers into the gauntlet and triggered the metal plating into wrapping around the rest of his hand.  Tony frowned down at the titanium alloy, flexing his fingers in the glove and wiggling them as he slowly tightened the vice at his wrist.  He could still feel Bucky’s gaze on him.

There was something disconcerting about it, the intensity of that stare.  Tony shifted uneasily in his seat, hair falling slightly into his face as he focused on the shift-pull of plates around his wrist and the front half of his forearm. 

There was a soft tug of recognition in Bucky as metal wrapped itself around Tony’s arm, eyes narrowing.  "What're you building?"

“Prototype for a new suit,” Tony mumbled.

Bucky nodded, although he didn't have a great understanding of how they worked. "You work a lot."

“I—“ Tony huffed out a laugh that bordered on hysteric, looking back up at Bucky with something bemused and mirthful on his face.  “I own one of the world’s biggest corporations and play superhero when I’m not busy trying to ensure everyone has the best equipment possible specifically tailored for their strengths and for their weaknesses.  I kind of have to work a lot.”

Bucky hummed a little in consideration, head tilting a little as he peered at Tony. "But you still don't delegate any of it.  You don't have help."

“I have employees.  Entire staffs.  Multiple ones.”

"But they don't help you with this, do they?" Bucky asked, although it sounded like he already had his own answer.

Tony’s expression pinched in his confusion.  “FRIDAY helps.  Don’t you, FRIDAY?”

“When you allow it, sir.”

Bucky lifted a single brow without a word.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Tony shook his head, leaning in with his elbows on the table.  “What exactly is this about?”

Bucky shrugged.  "It's just something I've noticed."

Tony’s eyes narrowed briefly, a dangerous little tapering before he tilted his head and offered up one of those sharp smiles.  “Been doing a lot of that, haven’t you?  Noticing things.  Watching.  Curiosity, right?”

"I'm nothing if not observant." Bucky replied, meeting the look Stark was giving him without hesitation.

“Right,” Tony wet his lips, something else burning in his mouth that he swallowed down, forcing his gaze downward again.  “Right, of course you are.”

"What is it?”  Bucky asked, aware than he might have been pushing at Stark's patience.  “You always look like that when you want to say something else.”

“Oh, there’s a lot I want to say.” Tony snapped, tossing the screwdriver down onto the table with a clatter, jaw working briefly.  “You should leave.”

Bucky climbed to his feet, voice low as he replied.  “I don’t blame you for it.  For being angry.”

Tony flinched.  He slid back from the table, pushing up from his chair and turning his back on Bucky.

“Just go,” he breathed, moving toward the center of the lab where the engine he’d been working on the day before was still hoisted.

Bucky looked him over one last time, and then left without another word.

* * *

 

Bucky kept returning to the conversation he'd had with Stark on his way back to his and Steve’s suite.  It hadn't jolted him the way the last one had; it hadn’t left him shaken or confused.  If anything, it proved Natasha right.   It had left him more curious, more interested, than he had been before.  Stark was an enigma, a paradox unto himself.  A very moody one at that, as Bucky had uncovered.

As expected, Steve was already back by the time Bucky got their door open, looking up from his place on the couch, offering him a little smile.  "Hey, Buck.  Where've you been hiding?"

Bucky returned it, trailing metal fingers across Steve's arm where it lay draped along the back of the couch as he passed to duck into his room and take off his shoes.  "Went to see Stark again."

Steve hummed out a little sound, twisting his head as if he could see Bucky through the wall.  "Third time this week."

From inside the bedroom, Bucky's laughter could be heard. "You counting, Rogers?  Jealous much?"

"Of Stark? Never." Steve replied, amused.  "Besides, I know you're coming home to me."

Bucky was smiling when he padded out from his room, settling next to Steve on the couch, tucked in under the arm Steve raised for him and leaned into his side.  He shifted a little when Steve lent forward to set his phone down, settling back down again.  They were quiet for a moment before Bucky spoke up again.

"Stark's weird."

"You're only just figuring this out?"

Bucky shot him a flat look, nudging at Steve's ribs gently.  "Only just met the guy.  Every time I go down there, he just keeps getting more and more complicated."

Steve's brows furrowed in a little.  "You sure this is a good idea, Buck?"

Bucky glanced up at him, expression softening a little.  "He's taking a chance with all this, impending doom or not.  I think-- I think even if he's done some regrettable things, we oughta give him a chance too.  I think he means well.  Just… maybe isn't so good at the execution side of things."

Steve nodded slowly, considering for a moment.  "Okay.  But, if he pulls a stunt with you like he did in Russia—"

"He won't," Bucky interrupted. "If he wanted to do something, he would have already.  We've been here for weeks."

Steve's lips thinned, and he huffed out a sound.  "Okay.  Alright.  Just maybe be a little careful.  He can be volatile."

Bucky breathed out a sigh, letting his head fall back to rest against the crook of Steve's neck. "One of these days, you're going to stop being so damn protective."

Steve ducked his head a little to press a grin to Bucky's temple.  "Never."

* * *

 

Almost like clockwork, Bucky ventured out from within their quarters to take the short trip to Stark's lab the next day.  It was too early for lunch just yet, but he figured he could always come back later, if Stark was amicable.

The elevator trip down was uneventful until the doors opened, and Natasha walked in.  She raised a brow at him, almost surprised.

"Barnes."

"Romanoff," he replied, shuffling over a little to make room.  "Going up?"

She nodded once, a sly smile curling her lips as she looked at the elevator panel.  She said nothing until the doors opened and she was striding out, turning back to him. "Good luck with Stark."

Bucky's expression dropped flat as the doors shut on him.  

The elevator opened again shortly after, and he shuffled out only to find the glass walls of Stark's lab clouded white.  Bucky's brows drew together as he came in closer.

"Hey.  FRIDAY?  What's the deal here?"

"Mr. Stark has been on lockdown since 0500 hours," FRIDAY replied.  "It would not be wise to attempt entry at this time."

"0500. Right."  Bucky mumbled, more to himself than to FRIDAY.  "Lemme in."

There was a lengthy pause, like the one from his first visit the days previous.  Then the door slid open to the sound of shattering glass.

There were torn apart mechanics gutted and scattered across the floors and tables.  The eight cylinder that had been hanging at the center of the lab sparked and groaned dangerously, gears grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping where it hung precariously with one of the hoist straps snapped.  One of the translucent work boards that doubled as a holo screen had shattered from the impact of a well-aimed flathead.  Tony crouched before it, picking up what looked like a crow bar, and when he stood again, he arced back and swung forward, splintering the glass of another board, the haphazard scrawl of equations in it fracturing.

The engine gave another smokey belch.  Tony reared back and hit the screen again.

This was certainly not what Bucky had been expecting. The sound of mechanical carnage almost made him want to retreat back to his room, the grind of misplaced gears harsh against his ears.  Just yesterday the lab was the picture of a homey and productive space, but apparently Stark didn't agree.  In a few short moments, Bucky was across the room, metal fingers reaching out to curl around the end of the crow bar when Stark swung it back, holding tight.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Tony jerked at it but Bucky’s fingers only tightened with the familiar _whirr-click._   “What the _fuck_ are you doing in my lab?”

Bucky didn't try and wrest the crow bar out of Stark's grasp, although from this angle it wouldn't haven't been exceptionally difficult.  He was weaker, smaller, more vulnerable without the suit. "What the fuck am I ever doing in your lab?"

“I don’t _fucking know_!” Tony tugged again, teeth bared.

Bucky didn't find the display particularly threatening.  Stark was angry, sure.  But not in a way that might intimidate him directly.  This wasn't the behavior of a combatant.  

His grip didn't tighten on the crow bar, nor did it loosen any, looking down at Stark without judgement in his gaze.  "What'd your lab ever do to you?"

“That’s none of your goddamn business,” Tony spat, pulling away with a stilted movement, grease on his shirt and shadows under his eyes. 

There was a smudge of oil and ash on his cheek, the knuckles of his left hand red and cracked.  His sneakers crunched over the mess of glass scattered over the tile floors. 

Bucky lowered the crow bar, but didn't put it down lest Stark take it back up again.  It would be too easy at this point to leave.  God knew Stark wasn't giving him a reason to stay.  But there was something about the way Stark moved, the way he looked that that struck a chord.  That made him ache with something.

Empathy, maybe. Understanding at the least.

"I'm making it my business," he said.

Laughing, brittle and sharp, Tony paced over to where there was a set of needle nose pliers impaling a pane of glass, gripping them and prying them free.  “Well, I’m deciding it’s _not_ your business.  So get the hell out of my lab.”

It would have been much simpler to just follow the direction he'd been given, but something about it made Bucky's resolve harden, stance shifting just subtly, as if he was expecting resistance.  He'd done enough of listening.  "Fine.  But if I do, you're coming with me."

Tony looked at him again, eyes narrowed.  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Bucky raised his brows at him.  "You aren't staying down here and beating the shit out of unsuspecting engine blocks either.  You want to take out some frustrations you can come take them out on me.  I can take a hit."

Visibly flinching, Tony took a step back.  He looked a bit ill just at the suggestion. 

Turning away from him again, Tony tossed his pliers carelessly aside.  “Thanks but no thanks.”

"That wasn’t a request, Einstein.  Come on." Bucky retorted, tossing aside the crow bar with a harsh _clank_ , determined as he reached out to grab Tony by the collar, tugging to get him to follow.

Tony stumbled after him, teeth gritting.  He reached up and back to grip at the hand and wrist holding him by the scruff of his shirt so vicely, scowling as Bucky pulled him out of the lab and toward the elevator. 

The metal of Bucky’s fingers was cold under his own.  He tried to wrench them loose, but they were locked firmly into place around the cotton of his collar.  Sneering, Tony attempted to slip free, halting when a warm, rough hand clapped onto his bicep. 

“FRIDAY, stop the elevator.” Tony snapped.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that yet, sir.”  FRIDAY replied, pleasant as can be.  “We have not yet arrived at the gym floor.”

Bucky's lips twitched up a little, glancing up at the ceiling in silent thanks.  "You aren't going to sit down in your lab and drown in your own self-pity.  There are better ways to deal with that shit."

“Like you’re the poster child for dealing with issues,” Tony scoffed, trying to jerk his arm free and not making much progress.  “Real bang up job, Tom Stall.  What’s your next move?  Head to Indiana?  Open up a diner?  Settle down and pretend your nightmare of an existence never happened?”

Bucky's lips twitched into a snarl, and he moved in closer, right into Stark's space.  "I tried that.  I tried to keep out of this.  And then you went and signed some papers, and now I'm back in the shit pile with you."

The smaller of the two shook.  His body gave an almost violent shudder, his mouth mirroring Bucky’s own, and there was vitriol on his tongue, ready to be spit despite the gloss over his dark eyes.  Then the elevator doors slid open, and Bucky jerked him forward, urging him across gym floor and over to where there were mats laid out.  Tony stumbled after him, jaw aching from the clench of it, and he let out a sharp grunt when Bucky gave him a none too gentle shove forward. 

Tony paced forward a few steps before turning, expression drawn tight, fingers curling and flexing at his sides.  There was rage in him, and guilt, and it burned so bright he was surprised he hadn’t caught aflame. 

“I made a mistake with the Accords,” Tony admitted.  “I’ve said it before.  I’ve _apologized_ for it.  But Zemo blowing you out of hiding was _not_ my fault.”

"If you hadn't dropped a city on itself, he wouldn't have used me as a chess piece."  Bucky snapped, pacing around him. " _Your people_ drew him to me.  I wasn’t on his radar until he wanted to come for _you_."

Tony lunged for him, snarling like something wild.  Like something primal. 

Bucky braced, stance locked, but he didn't make a move to strike back, rolling with the force of it.  He twisted, throwing Stark off with little more than his own momentum.  He might have been angry, but he wasn't here to beat Stark into a pulp.

"Is that all you've got?"

Teeth bared, Tony made to strike again.  He did not throw his entire body at Bucky this time, instead aiming an unsteady fist at Bucky’s jaw.   

The blow stung, but it wasn't near enough to make Bucky stumble.  It was uncoordinated; lacking form.  He turned his head with the punch, more for Stark's benefit than for his own. He shook his head, as if to clear it, marching on steady feet toward Tony. 

He swung again, and this time Bucky parried it with a flat hand, pushing until Tony’s fist swung through and past him.  It made him stumble forward, and the larger of the two men used that unbalanced momentum to send Tony sprawling to the mats.  He hit the ground with a grunt, rolling from his side and onto his back.  Above him, Bucky towered, not even winded.

“ _Ultron_ dropped that city,” Tony hissed.  “ _Not_ me.”

"And who made him?" Bucky demanded, goading now, exploiting the weak points he'd found in the armor Stark wore. He took a step back, giving Stark space to rise again, a snarl set on his face.  "Who let that loose on the world?”

“I was trying to _save_ the world,” Tony’s voice cracked as he lurched up and forward, managing to glance a blow with his elbow off of Bucky’s side before a large, warm hand caught his shoulder.

"From what?" Bucky demanded, too close for comfort until he used to grip he had on Stark's shoulder to push him away, grip careful, force precise. "There was no threat worthy of that. You don't get to play sheriff.”

"You didn't see it.  See _them_." Tony gestured wildly, his voice shaking, his gaze fogging.  "You have _no idea_ what you're talking about."

"You don't get to shape the world." Bucky retorted, volume raising as they squared off.

He could see Stark preparing to lunge at him before it happened, the shift in his stance, the tension across his shoulders.  He telegraphed better than some radio stations.  

They collided, and Bucky let himself move with the force of it, sliding back on the mats, grip altering until he had enough leverage to flip Stark like he weighed nothing at all, taking in the sound of impact against padded floors with some satisfaction. The sound that followed it, something akin to a sob, was much less so.  By the time Bucky's eyes were on him though, Stark had covered his face with both hands.  His breath came in sharp, short pulls and he trembled where he lay on the mat.

In his chest, Tony's heart pounded so heavily his ribs began to ache.  There was a metallic taste in his mouth, at his gums, but it was not blood.  He tried to catch his breath, tried to count it, but all he could see was an echo of terrifying endlessness.  All he could comprehend was an unending fear.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.  "I'm sorry."

Bucky grunted out a little sound, relaxing his stance as he moved to settle on the mats near him, cross legged and unguarded. His expression softened, and suddenly he looked as exhausted as Tony did, knowing Stark couldn't see him, sitting in the half light of the gym.

For a long moment, only the sound of ragged breathing echoed through the gym, before Bucky broke the quiet, voice rough. "Wasn't your fault."

"That's--" Tony's dubious laugh was muffled behind his palms.  "That's not what you were just saying."

Bucky shrugged a little.  "I kind of just wanted you to hit me."

Hands falling away, Tony cocked his head and looked up at him, brows furrowed and eyes bloodshot.  “Next time, ask Romanoff.”

Bucky made a point of looking away, hair falling to hide his face partially. "She hits harder, at least."

Tony snorted and nodded, but didn’t say anything.  Tipping his head back, he took another shaky breath, hands scrubbing through his hair until it stood up at odd angles.  At least he had stopped trembling.

Bucky remained still for a moment more before he got to his feet, motion smooth and easy, quiet save for the occasional _whir-click_ of his arm.  He made no effort to offer any other sentiments as he walked away.

“Barnes,” Tony called after him.  “Thanks.  You know.  For letting me fail at hitting you.”

Bucky barked out a short laugh, harsh even by his own standards. "Anytime."

* * *

 

Bucky's morning passed without incident, watching Steve leave in the morning, hearing the shower turn on a couple of hours later when he returned from the gym several floors away. He dozed off somewhere between hearing the water run through the walls and Steve moving back into their room, but when he woke again, there was a cup of coffee sitting on his bed side table.  Steve followed shortly after, hair still a little damp from the shower.  Neither of them emerged from their room until it was almost lunch time.

Eventually, Bucky found himself making the trip down to the labs with a container of pasta in one hand.  After yesterday's incident, he didn't feel nearly as awkward coming down to see Stark.  The glass was clear that day and much of the destruction from the morning earlier had been cleared.  

It brought a little smile to Bucky's face as he paused by the door, poised to ask FRIDAY to let him in, when it slid open for him without prompting.  His brows furrowed a little, but he continued on, making his way into the lab, setting the lunch on the table top.  He settled quietly into the chair he'd inadvertently claimed for his own.

Tony glanced up at him from where he was repairing the damage done to the engine block he’d been working on, one brow up, smile small and crooked.  “You really are making this a habit, aren’t you?”

There was a soft tune playing overhead.  Something strange yet familiar.  He couldn't place the song, but after a few bars he decided he rather liked it.  It had a nice feel to it, smooth and easy.

"It's routine." Bucky shrugged, nudging the container towards him.

“What is it today?” Tony came away from the eight cylinder, whipping his grease covered hands off on a rag that hung tucked into one of his pockets.

"Carbonara." Bucky replied, moving his chair in a little, forearms rested on the bench. "I had to talk Wanda out of the last portion."

Tony hummed appreciatively. 

“Thanks,” he said and took the seat across from him.  “But next time?  Bring something that you can eat too.  Because this whole you-watching-me-eat thing is getting kinda weird.  Unless you’re into that.”

Bucky pulled a face. "People are into that?"

Laughing, Tony opened up the container and shrugged.  “People are into everything.”

Bucky grunted out a little sound, lips quirking a little.  "I'll keep that in mind, I guess."

“You do that,” Tony muttered, cradling the box of pasta to his chest and leaning back in his chair, spinning slightly.  “So tell me, what do you know about multi-cylinder reciprocating internal combustion engines?”


	6. Chapter 5: Ramblin Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the world is ending, what else is there to do but drink?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: suicidal ideation, blatant alcohol abuse, expectations and realities

The flashes of vivid red light that had washed over the gym wall receded as Steve moved away from the ring he'd been in, scrubbing a hand over his head as he caught his breathe.  Behind him, Wanda relaxed her stance, the red glow around her hands fading to nothing, the blocks she'd been levitating falling back to the floor with a steady thud.  Steve looked over her for a second, something fond in his expression.

"You're doing really well, you know that?" Wanda raised a brow at him, only to be met with a warm little smile from Steve, who interrupted before she could point out her few failings that day. "And I don't just mean with the magic stuff.  Just in general. You're doing great."

Wanda looked him over-- once, twice-- as if she'd not been expecting it. "I—Thank you."

"You're welcome." Steve replied, walking past her to start over to the elevator, hearing her fall into step just beside him. He cast her a look when they settled into the elevator, jabbing at the button for his floor. "You going down?"

Wanda shook her head. "Up.  85th, if you could."

Steve raised a brow at her, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, number 85?"

The tips of Wanda's ears burned red before she reluctantly admitted: "I'm teaching Viz how to cook. He's terrible."

This only seemed to amuse Steve further. "Viz, huh? So that's how it is?”

Wanda elbowed him none too gently in the ribs, a childlike gesture, done in embarrassed mirth. "Shut up."

Steve only laughed at her, nudging at her shoulder in return before he sobered a little; although the smile didn't recede from his face as the elevator opened onto the 85th floor. "You two kids have fun, okay? No funny business in the kitchen."

Wanda shot him a look her shoulder as she left.  One that spoke volumes without a single word.

The elevator door closed before Steve could get another barb in, leaving him chuckling into the otherwise empty elevator car, breathing out a long sigh as it lurched into motion.  It had been nearly two weeks of Bucky disappearing every lunchtime down into the labs with Stark, and Steve was starting to get prickly about it.  

It had been one thing when it was Bucky grateful or guilty or some combination of the two.  But as time passed, Steve realized it was no longer just about that.  While there was a kind of remorse in Bucky’s actions—for old sins or new ones, Steve wasn’t sure—there was also a blatant curiosity in the way he seemed to be studiously lingering around Stark and his labs.  

As the elevator moved along, Steve lurched forward and hit the button labeled 82 before it could coast past it and down to his own suite.  He was almost nervous; suddenly unsure of what he might find and his fingers curled in and flexed out slow.  Something had Bucky caught up in the place, and Steve was equal parts wary and curious himself.  

The elevator doors opened on familiar closed off glass walls, and Steve paced toward the door with a resolute kind of determination.  Through the transparent glass, he could see Bucky sitting at one of the work benches, his back to the lab’s exit.  There was Chinese takeaway littering the tabletop, one box abandoned with a pair of chopsticks balanced on top of it.  Stark was hovering, all frenetic energy, around a holo projection at the center of the room, gesturing wildly here and making adjustments to what looked to be the schematics of a car when he wasn’t.  Steve stopped at the entrance, wrinkle forming between his brows.  Unsurprisingly, the doors didn't open, and after a moment, Steve reached up to knock on the glass. 

Tony looked up sharply, face alight with blue, and he seemed to grimace slightly before sighing and waving a hand.  The doors slid open with a _hiss_. 

“What can I do for you, Uncle Sam?” Tony asked, eyes careful on the projected blueprints rather than Steve’s face.

Takeout and cars weren’t exactly what Steve was expecting to find down in the lab, but it didn't seem exceptionally strange for Bucky to be drawn to that.  Without much hesitation, Steve moved to stand just behind where Bucky sat, reaching out to brush a hand over his shoulder in silent greeting.  A metal hand came up to touch Steve's fingers in return, and Bucky turned his head to smile up at Steve, uncharacteristically warm.

Steve looked at Stark, quirking a brow and shrugging a little. "Maybe I just came to crash the party."

“Consider it crashed,” Stark glanced up, gaze flitting between them before focusing on some rather complicated integrative schematics. 

Bucky flicked a balled up piece of napkin at Tony, which sailed and bounced harmlessly off his arm. "Ain't a party 'til there's more than two people."

Steve shot him a look, lips pursing, though it quickly gave way to a fond eye roll when he saw the dumb look on Bucky's face. "So.  What could possibly be keeping you two so occupied down here?"

“Always a good question,” Tony muttered.  “FRIDAY, what I have been doing down here for the past week?”

“Would you like the short answer or the long one, sir?”

Grinning, Tony collapsed part of the blueprints, balling them up and tossing them aside.  “No need to go into details.”

“Aside from the conference calls you’ve been screening down to your labs, you have been constructing a new vehicle that will run on a similar energy used to power your suits, sir.”  FRIDAY replied.

“Thank you, darling.”

"Smartass." Bucky mumbled, more to himself than to either of them.  "He builds shit, I bring him food because he somehow has less self-preservation than you do.  He rambles at me, I do the heavy lifting."

Steve blinked down at Bucky for a moment, and then nodded slow, pretending he wasn't a little bit insulted by the implication that he didn’t know how to watch his own ass.  "Explains the grease you keep tracking all over the place."

Bucky let out a little sound of protest. "I clean it up."

"You been getting engine grease on my Tower?" Tony asked, more playful than accusatory, huffing out a curse to himself as he scrapped another layer of the plans.

Bucky shrugged. "Unless you plan on washing my dirty sheets, it's not your problem."

Tony faltered, noise wrinkling.  "Tell me you two aren't doing laundry in the sink like it's the thirties.  I have people for that."

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt, but before he could say something, Steve had already started, tone dripping in sarcasm.  "Wow, is that what that newfangled thing in the laundry is for? Here I was about to find a rock to _beat_ the stains out."

Tony twisted around to face them, grin bright and lopsided, though it wavered not a second later.  Clearing his throat, Tony ran a hand over the top of his head and then gave a vague wave in their direction.

"There's, uh... No heavy lifting required today." Tony said.  "Thanks for the lunch, Long John Silver."

Bucky gave Tony a look, catching his eyes after a moment of searching, a brow raised, as if that somehow communicated a great deal of things.  Glancing away, Tony shifted oddly, shoulders rolling in something like restlessness or perhaps agitation. 

His lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to focus back on the plans sprawled out in lines of light in front of him.  There was a familiar burning in him, at the back of his throat, and Tony had to take a deep breath in order to swallow it down.  It always seemed to churn in him when Steve was around—that same familiar ache in his chest, a malignant mess of guilt and anger and hurt—and he did not want to risk saying something that would drive the wedge between them further.  Nor did he want to tear the still tenuous connection he seemed to have developed with Bucky. 

“Seriously,” he muttered, fingers dancing against his thigh.  “We’re all good here, Barnes.  Sorry for keeping you.”

Bucky heaved out a sigh, getting to his feet without much more preamble.  Tony was more skittish than he was some days.  He gestured for Steve to follow with a little jerk of his head.  Steve trailed after him with surprising compliance, though he paused to look over Stark once, more curious than he was judging.

"I'll see you later." Bucky said, not turning back around as they made their way back out toward the elevator, in step with each other.

“What was that about?” Steve asked when they were finally alone, his voice low, his gaze upward as if scanning for a camera he knew he wouldn’t see.

Bucky shrugged a little.  "Tony's like that sometimes. You say something, don't say something, and he'll clam right up.  Still trying to figure out what does it.  He's not real consistent."

Steve’s eyes fell to Bucky’s face, expression drawing into something like confusion.  Arms crossing over his chest, Steve shifted to lean a shoulder against the elevator wall, metal cold even through the cotton of his t-shirt.

“You say that like I haven’t known him longer than you have,” Steve said.  “What are you trying to unpuzzle about him?  And _why_?”

"Everything I guess," Bucky replied, a little dismissive.  "He just surprised me, and now I guess I can't let it slide."

Nodding, Steve huffed out a little breath, taking a second for himself to run over the idea of it—of Bucky and Tony—in his mind.  Then he hung his head, smile small and tender.  His shoulders shook a bit as he laughed, mostly to himself, before peering up at Bucky with that grin still on his mouth.

“New pet project, huh?” he asked, some mixture of mirth and relief in his voice.  “This isn’t gonna turn out like that kid from New Jersey, is it?”

It took Bucky a moment to recall what Steve was on about, lips twitching up when the memory resurfaced.  "Hopefully with a better ending.  So, maybe you can do me a favor and not frighten this one away?"

“Hey,” Steve raised his hands, the image of innocence as the elevator doors slid open.  “ _You’re_ the one who ended up with a black eye that time.”

"What was I supposed to do?" Bucky asked, smiling at him. "Kid was gonna get his dumb ass handed to him."

Striding out of the elevator, Steve shook his head.  “You coulda let him learn not to pick fights bigger than he was.”

"Oh, you mean like you did?" Bucky retorted, brows hitching.

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve placed a hand at Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed as they fell into step.  “You know what I mean.  Just… be careful with Stark.”

"It'll be alright." Bucky said, smile fading a bit, almost resigned. "You worry too much."

“Or maybe you don’t worry enough,” Steve muttered as they came to a stop in front of the door to their suite.  “I just—Stark can be… _Tony_ can be dangerous.  I don’t want to see him try and tear your arm off again, Buck.”

Bucky grunted out a little sound, stepping into their shared living space before veering left, putting space between Steve and himself.  "Maybe he won't miss next time."

He shut the door to his bedroom before Steve could say anything more.

* * *

 

Bucky awoke for the third time that night with a start, breath rattling in his chest, hands shaking as he moved to sit up on the edge of the bed.  He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a second, as if it might banish the carnage permanently imprinted on him.  Shoulders slumped, chest heaving, Bucky let his head fall into his hands until he could settle his racing heart, his tacky breath. 

When he finally looked up, there was a cup of coffee sitting on his bedside table.  He hadn't heard Steve come in to place it there, but it was still warm.  A flicker of a smile curled his lips, and he reached out to take the cup, the heat of it banishing some of the cold that prickled over his skin.

He waited until he heard the water in the shower start to run before he took his leave, not wanting to have to face Steve and what would no doubt be endless questions and worry.  His head was enough of a mess without adding that to the equation.  He didn't really remember when it was that he decided that the lab would be a good place for him now, but somehow his feet carried him there, gait a little shaken, expression fatigued.

He was still breathing heavy when he got to the lab door, like every exhale took great effort to force out.  Bucky didn't make effort to announce himself, waited patiently at the door until it slid open for him.

“—I don’t know how many goddamn times I have to tell you I _don’t care_ ,” Tony’s voice came pouring out as Bucky stepped in; he was leaned back in a chair, tossing a ball idly up and catching it, a bud in his right ear.  It looked like he was fresh out of a shower, his hair damp, his skin a bit pink.  “It isn’t like I don’t have the money.”

The faintest twinges of curiosity drew Bucky in, settling heavily in his chair, forearms rested on the table top, like he couldn't keep himself up even if he wanted to.  He made no effort to interrupt Tony's conversation, dark eyes watching him with idle interest, a little glassy.

“Well, if you won’t process them because you’re a little daunted by the possibility—a very slim possibility, I might add—of failure, then find me another lawyer who isn’t a complete chicken shit.”

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, lips twitching a little as he eyed Tony off.  He supposed legal troubles always struck at the worst time.

“Get it done,” Tony glanced his way.  “Or I’ll find someone who can.”

He pulled the earpiece out, tossing it onto the table top before throwing the tennis ball over his shoulder.  Dumm-E whirred after it from where he’d been lingering in anticipation in the corner.

“You look like shit,” Tony muttered, scrubbing a tired hand over his face.

"Thanks." Bucky muttered, lifting his chin from where it lay rested against his open palm.  "You look like you need a new lawyer."

"That or a good lay," Tony grunted.  "The political and legal merry-go-round is giving me a hernia.  You want a drink? I could use a drink."

"It's seven in the morning." Bucky said flatly, blinking at him a few times.

Tony cocked his head and stared for a moment, his smile more amused than bemused.  “Is there a point to that statement?”

Bucky was quiet for a second, expression unchanging. "Make it a double then."

“A man after my own heart,” Tony pushed to his feet, crossing over to a desk and pulling a bottom drawer open, the distinct sound of glass _clinking_ as he pulled out a bottle of something amber and two tumblers to go with it as he paused with one of those sharp grins of his.  “If I had one, anyway.”

Bucky took the tumbler Tony offered him, metal fingers clinking against smooth glass; he raised it in something of a salute.  "I'll trade you.  My heart for your soul."

Pouring him out two fingers, Tony hummed like he was considering it, then doled out a double for himself.  “Tempting.  Very tempting.  But I sold my soul to the devil years ago.  You take IOUs?”

Bucky drank, downing the contents of the glass without preamble. It burned on the way down, but somehow it was more comfort than not.  "Can collect it from the man himself one day."

“I’ll have to meet you there,” Tony slid into his seat.

Tony downed his drink and then poured them both another. 

Bucky could already feel the look Steve was going to give him for drinking so early.  He supposed it would be no worse than the one he would undoubtedly be on the end of later anyways, when he finally went back to their suite.  He drank slower this time, rolling the glass between his hands, his right slightly unsteady.  Across from him, Tony studied the movement, one arm crossed over his chest as he took another long pull. 

“I’m assuming you don’t want to talk about it.”

"Do people ever want to talk about it?" Bucky asked, tone exhausted.

“Point,” Tony nodded.  “I’ve been told it helps.  Usually I just break stuff.”

"I noticed." Bucky said flatly.

“All the more reason for you to avoid being like me,” Tony’s brows furrowed.  “Or something like that.”

Bucky huffed out a little laugh, though it was more bitter than it was amused.  "I think I've done enough breaking."

Features shuttering slightly, Tony nodded.  He topped both of their drinks off and downed his own with a hiss, already pouring himself another.

“Yeah, me too.”

Bucky's brows furrowed in a little, but he said nothing to protest, a hand coming up almost absently to rub at the seam of his left shoulder, resisting the urge to scratch at it.  "We make quiet the pair."

Tipping his head, Tony held out his glass for Bucky to _chime_ his against.  “To breaking shit.”

"To breaking shit." Bucky echoed, their glasses _clinking_ before they drank.

* * *

 

_Please allow me to introduce myself_

_I'm a man of wealth and taste_

Tony was on his back, staring up from the cold floor of the lab up at the projection of the realms that Thor had been helping him plot out before his departure from Midgard.  There was a bone dry bottle of whiskey by his head, and an empty set of glasses somewhere between where his body ended and Bucky Barnes’ body began.  Gesturing messily in a general upward direction, Tony pointed out a constellation that was distant—somehow familiar and completely new.

_I've been around for a long, long year_

“See that?  That right there?  That’s us in the big—“ Tony laughed.  “—in the big _universe_ tree of life.”

_Stole many a man's soul and faith_

Next to him, Bucky hummed.  “What’s this song?  I like it.”

Blinking, Tony propped himself up onto his elbows, wobbling a bit.  He stared down at Bucky, expression etched in something that was aghast.  Perhaps even horrified. 

“Oh… my god, are you joking?  You aren’t joking.” Tony muttered.  “The Rolling Stones?  Beggars Banquet, December of 1968—Sympathy for the Devil?  Not… Not ringing any bells here?  Were you on ice?  I feel like you had to be on ice.”

Bucky turned his head to look at him, expression flat.  "Maybe this will come to a surprise to you, but I wasn't exactly given recreation time when I wasn't in cryo.  Hydra didn't make a habit of giving its weaponry record players."

Nose wrinkling, Tony shook his head and flopped back onto the ground.  “That’s just disappointing.”

"Yeah, well you can take it up with their complaints department," Bucky retorted, tone sharp.

“Oh, I will.”  Tony said.  “It’s on my list, actually.  Right below ‘you’re all Nazi shitheads’ and ‘your encryption codes are worse than a twelve year old’s’.  Think their HR department will do anything about it?”

"If Lukin's still involved you might get a left hook for your troubles."  Bucky replied, a little amused. "But somehow, I don't think they care much."

“Pity.  Though, I guess it gives me an excuse to blow a few holes in a couple of people.  Excluding you, of course.”

"Excluding me?" Bucky asked, brows furrowing in a little.

“Unless you wanted me to blow a hole in you?” Tony frowned, biting back a heady shudder.

Bucky tilted his head a little, almost childlike in his confusion.  "Why wouldn't you want to?"

Going very still, Tony took measured breaths.  He kept his gaze upward at the swirl of fake stars and manmade constellations.  Wetting his lips, he canted his head over to meet Bucky’s gaze.  He searched his face for a moment, dark eyes flitting rapidly over Bucky’s features before Tony let out a tight, agitated sound.

Hands coming up, he returned his gaze skyward.  He dragged his fingers—rough from years of work—through his hair until it stood on end. 

“I apologized,” he said.  “Wasn’t a great one, but I did.  Wouldn’t have if I still wanted to—“

He cut himself off, mouth twitching.  Clearing his throat, Tony pushed up until he could stand on unsteady legs, padding over to his desk and rummaging about in the drawers.  He needed more liquor for this conversation. 

Bucky sat up on the workshop floor, eyes tracking Tony's movements.  "I know you think you understand.  But I still did those things.  There needs to be some kind of ramification."

Tony’s gaze snapped up, meeting Bucky’s and holding it.  “You think I don’t understand that?”

He pulled another bottle, an older one, out of a drawer on the other side of the desk.  Pausing, he squinted down at the label and then made a soft sound at the back of his throat.  When trying to work the cork free with his fingers didn’t do the trick, Tony bit into it and twisted, the stopper coming free with a _pop_.  He spat it off to the side and then took one long swig, wincing and shuddering bodily as it burned on the way down.

Rounding the desk, he paced back over and plopped down onto the floor.  With two fingers, he dragged their glasses over, pouring them both far too much.  He nudged Bucky his own glass with the end of the bottle—something aged that had been opened before, perhaps for a celebration, months previous—and settled in with his own.

“I get it, I really do.”  Tony muttered.  “Just because you weren’t in control, just because it wasn’t you who gave the order, doesn’t mean there isn’t blood on your hands.  You still did it.  You’re still the _reason_ people are dead.  That doesn’t mean I have to blame you for it, though.  And it doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

There was a pause as Tony took another long pull.

“Not anymore anyways.”

Tony's explanation did nothing to ease Bucky's mind, the deep ache in his chest echoing at the confirmation.  He'd done that.  All of it.  Against his knees, Bucky's fingers flexed, as if he could feel something seeping over them, warm and slick and metallic.

"But you should.  I don't deserve that kind of understanding."

“What were you expecting?” Tony scowled down at the bottom of his glass.  “Were you hoping I’d just… come to my senses?  End you?”

Bucky was quiet for a moment.  When he heard it out loud, it sounded ridiculous.  "Well.  It's going to happen one day.  Sooner rather than later."

Flinching back, Tony stared at him again, glass dangling from his fingertips.  His mouth worked—twisting into something angry, something malignant—and then quickly settled into a thin line.  Tony balanced his arms over the tops of his knees, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he looked off toward an endless sea of galaxies that hung overhead.

“Sorry, Mr. Freeze.”  Tony said, tone brittle.  “Betrayal isn’t my _modus operandi_.  So if that’s what you’re after, hanging around me, you might as well get gone.”

The confusion and curiosity in Bucky’s gaze vanished, as if somehow being sentenced to continue on was infinitely worse than any alternative. Eyes glassy, he heaved out a shaking breath and climbed to his feet.  He knew a dismissal when he heard it.  

For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something, stopping to hover over where Tony refused to look up at him—but he thought better of it, making to leave without another word.  That was when Vision phased down through the ceiling like he was the next coming of Christ and both Tony and Bucky snapped to attention.

Shoving up off of the floor, Tony frowned over at Vision.  “FRIDAY, kill the music and bring up the lights.”

She did so without a word.

“Good morning, Tony.  Mr. Barnes.”  Vision greeted with a polite dip of his head, eyes flitting about the workshop, and his head tilting at an odd angle.  “Were you… drinking?”

"So what if we were," Bucky said, defensive, eyeing Vision with more than a bit of caution.

“It’s not even ten o’clock,” Vision chided, his own eyes on Tony. 

“Viz, seriously, I need you to get to the point.”

With a grimace, Vision settled flat footed on the tile floor of the lab.  “Thor has just arrived.  He… does not bring _good_ news.”

Both Tony and Bucky shared a look, mouths set into equally as grim lines.  Tony spat out a curse, rubbing a hand over his mouth, already moving toward the exit. 

“He upstairs?”

Vision nodded, pacing along just at his back once Tony passed him.  “He is waiting in the common area.”

“How bad is not good?” Tony asked, catching Bucky by the elbow and steering him out of the workshop as well, heading for the elevator. 

“I am afraid I cannot say.”

Bucky's initial instinct to run when the Vision announced that trouble was coming was dashed when Tony led him into the elevator, though he followed with surprising willingness.  He'd almost forgotten about the impending doom hanging over their heads.  He supposed it might have been selfish.

"If it's bad enough to bring Thor back, it can't have a silver lining," Bucky said.

“Could be,” Tony nodded.  “But it could also just be an update on where exactly Thanos is.”

“I rather do hope it is the latter, Tony.”  Vision murmured, hovering close to the side that was not occupied by Bucky.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed.  “So do I.”

* * *

 

The trip along the Bifrost had been more strenuous than usual.  By the time Thor had found footing on the landing pad at the top of Stark Industries Tower, he felt more worn than he had since his brief time as a mortal.  He had not lingered for long, leaving the knotted scorch marks across the pad as he made his way down into the building. 

It had been the Vision that he found first, hovering and watching Wanda manipulate the water from her cup.  Thor had greeted him heartily, though his smile was a grim one, and he had clapped his, Tony’s, and Bruce’s creation companionably on the shoulder before making a gesture with his hammer. 

“I shall go collect Tony from his laboratory,” Vision had dipped his head before drifting off. 

Wanda volunteered to notify a few of the others, knowing she would find them burning off steam down in the gym. 

Grateful, Thor had been left to his own devices, and he paced back and forth before the lofted sitting area, twisting his hammer over in his hands.  He still had a sheen of sweat on him, and his brother’s words still rang in his head.  In his chest, there was worry.  Worry that had not ceased since Thanos had sent the likes of Amora and Skurge to steal the Tesseract from the safety of Asgard. 

It had compounded now.  There was too much at risk, and now there was an entire planet in near shambles because of Thanos’ greed for power and destruction.  Loki had warned him before he departed Asgard that things would be accelerating from here.  Thanos now had two Stones—the Reality Stone that had nearly caused his Jane’s demise, and the Power Stone that had caused much destruction in the outer most reaches of the realms. 

While he was thankful to have new allies—odd ones, admittedly, though Thor did not have much room to talk—he regretted that it came at the cost of so many Xandarian’s homes.  They would search for a new place to take shelter now, and Thor knew that the All-Father would not allow such refugees to take sanctuary in Asgard and risk the treaties with at least three other worlds.  Thor had directed the Nova and the people under their care to Midgard.

It would only be a matter of time.

“Alright, big guy.”  Tony said as he paced out of the elevator, the two men he towed along after him nearly dwarfing his figure, though Thor knew better than to judge Tony Stark by his stature.  “Tell me the world isn’t about to end.”

“The world is not about to end, my friend.”  Thor smiled, shoulders finally easing under such lighthearted barbs. 

“Well, thank fuck for that.”

Bucky halted some feet away behind Tony, stance relaxed enough, although there was an edge to it. Like he was expecting something to happen any moment.  Thor's presence always seemed to set him off-balance.

The others were not far behind, and they gathered into the suite.  Wanda moved back over to where Vision had pulled out her chair at the dining room table off to the left.  Bucky shifted uncomfortably when he caught Steve looking his way, and he glanced away from him when Steve lifted a single brow—gaze flitting pointedly between Bucky and Tony.  Keeping his gaze forward, Bucky’s jaw flexed. 

Soon, he had Steve and Sam by his side.  Natasha was not far behind them, trailing in and finding a comfortable place at Tony’s left.  Bucky did not look away from Thor.

“So the world isn’t ending,” Tony announced.

"But it's not about to get cheerier here, is it?" Sam asked, a little dubious.

“I am afraid not,” Thor admitted.  “Are we not missing two of our number?”

Natasha crossed her arms under her chest.  “Clint and Scott are in the middle of something, right now.  I’ll catch them up later.”

“Thank you,” Thor nodded his head.

“We were talking about the world not ending?” Tony’s gauntlet buzzed at his wrist, and he frowned down at the flat screen and the call ringing somewhere downstairs in his office as he blinked a few times. 

Natasha glanced at him, leaning in and sniffing.  “Have you been drinking?”

“You ask that like you’re surprised,” Tony mumbled.  “Thor?”

“Thanos has made moves,” Thor replied.  “On a planet called Xandar.”

"How far's that from us?" Steve asked, then paused. "In relative terms."

Thor frowned.  “If Thanos continues on the path that he is on right now, he will be within Midgard’s galaxy in five to six months.”

Grim expressions were exchanged all around.

"That doesn't give us much time to prepare," Wanda said.

"How do you even prepare for a Mad Titan or whatever he's called?" Sam asked. " _Can_ you even prepare?"

“We can.”  Thor assured.  “We can and we will.  And we have new allies who will be coming to our aid soon.”

Tony finally glanced up from his watch.  “He won’t be coming from a centralized location like they did last time.  He’s bringing an army with him, right?”

“Of Chitauri,” Thor nodded.

Paling considerably, Tony twitched.  “Can we funnel them somehow?  Make them come in at a specific area.  Keep the fight restricted.”

Tilting her head, Natasha hummed.  “Might be easier said than done, but a few helicarriers might come in handy.”

“If I outsourced and kept it off the books,” Tony added, almost under his breath, exchanging a significant look with Natasha.  “I bet I could have at least three more built in that timeframe.”

Vision cleared his throat.  “We would need more than that, I am afraid.  Something… outside of the atmosphere.”

“The Nova Corp would be willing to aid in the fight,” Thor hesitated with a slight cringe.  “But only if Midgard was willing to take on a number of Xandarian refugees.”

“You’re wincing.  Why are you wincing?” Tony paced over to the dining room table, pulling out a transparent phone and tapping it down, a projection of the same scattering of stars he and Bucky had been gazing at coming into focus.  “I mean, other than because the strictly earthling hoops we’re going to have to jump through to make sure people don’t start losing their damn minds when refugees from another planet start pouring in.”

“If Midgard takes the Xandarians in, it might be perceived as a threat to a number of treaties between them and the Kree.”  Thor sighed.  “That is not taking into account what the Skrulls might do.”

“Oh, joy of joys.”  Tony murmured, focusing in on first their galaxy, and then their solar system.  “Space politics.”

Steve's brows furrowed in, something in his expression darkening.  "They have nowhere else to go, we can't leave them floating around in space until they can find somewhere else."

"People already don't like human refugees, much less alien ones.  They aren't gonna like it, even if these Kree, Skrull, whatevers are okay with it." Sam replied.

"They need help.  We can give them a place.  Least we can do."  Bucky offered, a little quieter than the rest of them.

“And we will,” Tony agreed as he pulled up an image of the Earth as it slowly rotated through its days.  “We’ve got how long until they get here?”

Thor shrugged.  “It could be a week.  It could be a month.  My brother will let us know when they are to arrive; our new allies will be coming with them.”

“We’ll deal with it when they get here, then.  But I’ve got a number of properties that could function as sanctuary while we handle the Big Bad.”  Tony dismissed, spinning the image of the Earth as Natasha trailed over to peer over his shoulder at it.  “Allies?”

“The Guardians, yes.  They have shown a great deal of tenacity and honor in battle.”  Thor nodded, grip firming around Mjolnir’s handle.  “They were among those who defended Xandar.  They will aid us in this endeavor as well.”

Steve made a little sound of consideration. "Puts our numbers up, at least.  If they're bringing Chitauri, might be an idea to set some kind of evacuation protocol in place for potential targets.  We don't want a repeat of the first time."

“Nova Corp,” Tony glanced over his shoulder to Thor.  “They got ships?”

“Some of the fastest vessels in the universe.”

“So they’ll beat Thanos here.”

“Yes,” Thor nodded.  “Especially considering Thanos is still gathering his resources.”

“Good,” Tony muttered, zeroing in over an area that was mostly sea and low in population where it was over land. 

Natasha leaned in.  “You’re thinking about having them trim down the Chitauri from outside so that they’ll streamline down.”

“Or they’ll run,” Tony nodded.  “I need to make a space tight suit.”

Steve looked over at Stark, brows knitting in, something like concern marring his expression. "Wouldn't it be better to leave the space part to the Nova Corp?"

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me, Captain.” Tony replied in a dubious tone that implied he _did_ know better. 

Vision took a step forward, hand resting on the back of Wanda’s chair.  “I would also like to express some concern.  The last time you were in space, it did not go well, Tony.”

“He means to say that you almost died,” Natasha muttered and reached out to point at a specific location on the 3D graphic floating before them.

Tony hummed and narrowed in on it.  “Technically, I was only in cardiac arrest for a handful of seconds.  But that was after traveling through a wormhole.  Totally different concept.”

“Is it?” Wanda asked, a dry brow crawling up.

Shrugging with his entire face, Tony leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, gaze lit in blue by the projection.  “Won’t be sure until I find out.”

Behind him, from where he stood in between Sam and Steve, Bucky shifted uneasily.  The idea of Tony simply _finding out_ triggered something strangely protective in him, and it wound tight low in his belly.

"How about we wait for them to get here before we go making any concrete decisions." Sam suggested, easing some of the tension in the room.

"Yes," Thor nodded.  "War is not yet upon us.  Though I will admit I admire the plans you are already attempting to make, Tony.  My brother will be more than impressed and will aid in identifying some of the weaknesses he knows the armada to have."

Tony's brow went up in a direct mirror of Natasha's.  "Big giant missiles seem to be a pretty big weakness," he said.

"Will your wayward brother be gracing is with his presence anytime soon?" Natasha asked.

Steve's lip curled at the prospect of Thor's brother making an appearance, but he made no effort to protest.  If Thanos was truly as powerful as Thor claimed, then they'd need all the help they could get.

"He is in the midst of aiding Heimdal in sneaking the Xandarian refugees through to Midgard." Thor replied.  "When that is done, I imagine he will join us here to discuss strategy.  Now that Thanos has his hands on two of the Infinity Stones, his plans to claim the Mind Stone will be put into motion."

"So just an update and a bite to the ass to kick us into gear," Tony concluded. 

"Something like that," Thor dipped his head, both amused and chagrined.

Tony grunted, plucking up his phone, the projection of earth disappearing.  "Good.  I'm assuming you're sticking around for a while?  I want specs on the rocks our big bad already has.  Nat, could you reach out to one-eyed and angry? He's got a few things of mine that I'm gonna need back."

"I'll send him a message," her mouth twitched.

"I will be staying on Midgard unless I am called away," Thor said.  "I would like to assist in preparations for the Xandarians and Nova Corp’s arrival.  And I would like to visit Lady Jane."

Steve offered Thor a little smile.  "Take the time you've got.  We can take care of things here."

"My thanks," Thor smiled.  "Though I would like a chance to change into something more... Midgardian."

"Same room as last time, big guy. Your clothes are still there." Tony said, glancing at the flat screen on his wrist again.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very annoying phone call to deal with."

He moved to step away from the table.  Pushing to her feet, Wanda reached out for him, her fingers gentle at his arm.

"I would speak to you," she said.  "About your plans to aid in the battle outside of the earth’s atmosphere."

Tony faltered.  "…Okay."

The remainder of the group dispersed without much preamble, familiar faces pairing off.  Natasha excused herself with a quiet mutter about updating Clint.  There was a tense moment before Bucky moved to follow Steve, falling into step behind him as he and Sam made their way toward the elevator.  He didn't comment when Steve raised a brow his way, but he did offer a tired looking smile.  It was not even midday, and he already felt like he’d been awake for hours.

As the elevator doors slid shut, Steve cast a last glance over to where Wanda was talking to Stark.  The look on her face was stern—almost enough to make the part of himself that worried after her stir—but he knew that whatever it was, she could handle it herself.  He trusted Stark enough to know that she would be safe of his usual harshness, if not his clumsy attempts at protecting her. 

Looking back over at Sam, they shared a grimace.  He bit back a sigh, gaze falling to the leather of his shoes, disheartened at the news that their time was running short.

Tony, with Wanda's hand still on his arm, glanced first at her and then at Vision where he lingered at the table watching them both.  The solemn expression on his face made something in Tony's gut twist.

"What is this about exactly?" he asked.

Wanda shuffled closer, wetting her lips, her fingers still clinging gently to his arm as she peered up at him.  "What you are doing-- what you are _trying_ to do will not help."

Tony's smile was a brittle thing.  "I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Tony," Vision chided, taking a step forward that faltered when Wanda held up her other hand.

"Sacrificing yourself," Wanda breathed.  "Putting yourself in the most danger, where you are most frightened.  It will not save them."

"It worked the first time," Tony shrugged out of her hold and took a step back. 

"I have seen inside of your head, Tony Stark.  I have manipulated your fears and taken advantage of them.  For that I am sorry." Wanda insisted, voice raising.  "But I will not see you destroy yourself for them."

Brows twitching together, Tony tilted his head to regard her.  There was a keen kind of desperation in her eyes, one that spoke of knowledge and of concern.

"And here I thought you were still angry with me," Tony said.

"I am." Wanda huffed, trying to close the space he had placed between them.  "But not for the reasons you believe. And I am not angry enough to want you hurt the way you seem so insistent upon."

"And what way is that?"

"Dead," she whispered.  "Or alone."

Tony made a soft sound, like a realization, and did not deny it as he rubbed a slow hand over his mouth. He could still smell booze on his fingers. He could still taste it at the back of his mouth.

Without a word, Vision moved to stand at Wanda's side.  He did not say anything, but his lips were pressed into a thin line.

"I do not want your suffering," Wanda breathed.  "Or your sacrifice.  Please, do not pursue this plan."

"I would also advise against such actions, Tony." Vision muttered.  "And be it remnants of an intelligence that is integral to who I am, or my own... feelings on the matter, I would prefer to not see you martyr yourself."

The hush that fell between them was a heavy one.  Tony heaved a long, heavy sigh and seemed to deflate a bit.  Shoulders slumping, Tony looked to the windows that lined the walls.  He stared it over the city, jaw tight, before he gave a slow and reluctant nod. 

Wanda closed the last of the space between them, arms wrapping around his waist as she pressed her face into his chest.  Startled, Tony blinked down at the top of her head, spine stiff.  She only squeezed tighter.  Softening, Tony placed tentative hands at the back of her head and the middle of her back.

"I won't make any promises," he said.  "And I'm still going to make a suit that could function under the conditions outside of our atmosphere."

"Perhaps," Vision shuffled a bit.  "I could be of some service?  In terms of building such a suit?  I...  have memories of it, I think. Of building with you."

Tony looked up sharply, something like grief in his eyes.  "I wouldn't object," he said as Wanda pulled from his arms.  "You've got that kind of all-knowing thing going for you, after all."

Chagrined, Vision dipped his head.  "Perhaps not _all_ knowing."

Wanda sent a crooked smile his way. 

Around Tony's wrist, his gauntlet buzzed for attention.  With another heavy sigh, Tony scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Annoying phone call?" Wanda asked.

" _Mind numbing_ ," he groaned, already pacing over to the elevator.  "Good talk. Let's never do it again. Do I seem sober?"

He did not wait for a reply.

* * *

 

The elevator trip was awkward. After Sam stepped off at his floor, a sticky kind of tension fell over the remaining occupants, neither making eye contact, nor even really acknowledging that they were not alone on this trip down until the elevator opened up on their floor.  The silence set Bucky ill at ease, guilty almost, and occasionally he'd steal glances up at Steve when he knew the other man would not be looking.  

Their suite came as a welcome relief, and Bucky was quick to retreat toward his room, hoping he might escape the tension.  He got as far as the door when he noticed there was half a cup of stone cold coffee still sitting on his bedside table, right where he'd left it earlier that morning.

He paused just inside the doorway, shoulders dropping a little as he turned to face Steve, looking up but not meeting his eyes.  "I'm sorry I left before—without saying anything.  I just...  I needed to be somewhere else for a while."

"You don't think I know that?" Steve returned kindly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  "I get needing space, Buck.  Just don't close me out.  That's all I'm asking."

The kindness struck Bucky oddly, even coming from Steve, something vile and slick curling up in him.  "I'm not trying to.  I just… don't like talking about it."

"I know," Steve nodded, gaze straying to his feet.  "I don't agree with it, but I know.  But you need to talk to somebody about it, Bucky."

"Nobody else needs to know about that." Bucky said—a little too fast.

"And I'm not gonna tell anybody," Steve replied.  "But you should."

 _"No."_ Bucky said, sharper this time, insistent. 

"Not even me?" Steve stepped close.  "Not even Stark?"

Bucky shook his head, adamant, stomach rolling at the idea of having to explain himself to Steve.  To anyone.  "I can't."

"But you can drink with him?"

“That’s different.”

"Is it?" Steve took a breath, glancing away from him again, like if he let himself he would just give in to the shuttered look in Bucky's features if he faced it any longer.  "Buck, when was the last time you just... let loose?  When you were just you?  Because I can tell you right now, I haven't seen you more comfortable in your own skin than after you've spent a couple of hours down in the lab with Stark since I got you back."

A silence hung heavy for a beat.

"You trust him enough to be the way you are with me," Steve added.  "Or, at the very least, you _like_ him.  And, Buck, that's a _good_ thing.  A dangerous thing, yeah, because Tony is dangerous even on his good days.  But it's good.  It's good _for_ you."

Hearing Steve tell him that he'd grown to trust Tony solidified a mess of conflicted feelings with a resounding _thud_.  The wash of terror that followed soon after did nothing to settle him, visibly tensing.  His shoulders drew up, his jaw went tight.  Even his fingers curled around nothing.

There was something frantic in his eyes, looking up at Steve, as if he was after some kind of guidance to be sought there.  Trust was not something he could afford to have. Trust meant letting someone in.

"What if I like him because he's dangerous?" he asked in a strained voice.

Steve looked up sharply, brows drawn together, lips pressed thin.  He was shaking his head before he even spoke.  "Don't do that to him, Buck.  Stark has had enough blood on his hands.  He doesn't need anymore. And neither do you."

"But what else is supposed to happen to me?" Bucky asked, tinged with desperation, hands shaking. "I can't just be left like this."

Steve's expression crumbled.  He strode across the room, pulling Bucky into his arms, unyielding and daunting in its ardency. 

"You heal, Buck." He muttered, the side of his mouth pressed against his cheek.  "You heal."

Bucky held still for a long time.  Then he fell to pieces, clutching at the cotton of Steve’s shirt and burying his face against his shoulder.  Steve held him through it and didn’t say a word.

* * *

 

The flashing red light, while amusing, set Tony on edge the moment he walked into his expansive office.  He did not let it linger that way for very long. 

Plopping down into his desk chair, he propped his feet up onto the sleek Cherrywood and hit the _call_ button just before plucking up an absurdly complex looking rubik’s cube.  “Ross.  Talk to me.”

_“Do you know how long you had me on hold?”_

Tony made a face.  “Do you know how busy I am?”

 _“An extraterrestrial demi-god just landed on your rooftop_ ,” Ross replied, condescension heavy.  “ _I think I know how busy you are_.”

“Oh, good.  You’re all up to speed then.”

“ _Stark_ ,” he warned.  “ _You will get him to sign those Accords_.”

“Brief reminder here that I don’t actually think you need, but he is actually an extraterrestrial demi-god.  Of thunder.  Soon to be king, kinda guy.”  Tony twisted the faces around until the red side was complete.  “You really think some Midgardian paper policy is gonna rope this guy in?”

_“If it doesn’t, we’ll do the same thing we did to the rest of your old ragtag team, Stark.  Lock him up.”_

“Oh?  How do you think that’s gonna go for intergalactic relations, Mr. Secretary?”

The line went quiet.

“ _Just keep your eye on him.  He is still a part of the Avengers; if he causes any trouble, I’m holding you accountable._ ”

Tony’s mouth twitched, his fingers faltering over the cube.  “Is that a threat?”

“ _It’s a promise, Mr. Stark.  You’ve seen the cells we’ve made._ Think _your actions_ through _.  Or face the consequences._ ”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Tony muttered. 

The line went dead.

* * *

 

Bucky woke to still warm but otherwise lonely bed sheets, and a cup of coffee sitting on his bedside table. Sleepily, he propped himself up on an elbow, a smile curling his lips up as he reached out to take the mug.  The routine of it had become something of a comfort; laying back in bed, hearing the shower run, drinking the coffee Steve had made for him.  It bought a modicum of peace to the clutter of his mind, gave him time to settle before he had to leave the relative safety of their suite. 

Leaving was not something Bucky was looking forward to that particular day, the conversation he'd had with Tony the day previous hanging over him heavily—the look that had been on Tony’s face when he realized.  Steve was right.  He couldn't expect that from Tony.  He couldn't ask for an executioner out of him.

Hours trickled by, and after a little coaxing on Steve's end, Bucky found himself in front of the glass door to Tony's lab, two portions of today's lunch in his hand, as if it might serve to ease things between them.  The door slid open and Bucky hesitated, half tempted to run.  He swallowed thickly and took the first few steps into the lab, feet seeming to take him on their own accord.

The engine they had been tinkering with had been moved off to the side to make space for something new.  For something big. 

Tony was actually on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him, pulling and twisting at wires that poked out from between the tiles that doubled as panels.  He glanced up sharply when the doors slid open, jumping and yelping when it caused his fingers to slip and a shock to run up his arms.  With a hushed curse, Tony shook his hands out.

"Security breach," he called upward.

FRIDAY's reply was lazy and dry.  "You have made no such alterations to permissible people into your private laboratory, sir."

"Traitor," he muttered back.

Bucky looked suitably guilty, but said nothing in effort to make amends.  Instead, he left the bag of food he'd brought on the bench, and eyed the contraption Tony was tinkering with, eyes narrowing a little at the mess around the workshop.  "You've been busy."

"Well, when the end of the world is nigh," he shrugged, dusting off his hands in the worn jean of his pants as he pushed to his feet.  "What are you doing here?"

Bucky was quiet for a moment, eyeing him. "Brought lunch."

Tony hummed.  "If that's a peace offering, there better be walnut shrimp."

"Be what?" Bucky asked, raising a brow at him.

"No walnut shrimp then?" Tony's brow shot up and he padded over, opening one of the boxes in the bag and finding curry.  "Guess you'll just have to keep coming back."

"Guess I'll have to." Bucky agreed, falling silent again. There was something uncomfortable about the way he stood, tense and ever shifting, like being in the room set his skin to crawl.

With a dramatic sigh, Tony plopped down into the rolling chair.  "Well, you might as well sit.  I'm not going to eat all of this by myself."

Bucky shifted on his feet, hesitant before he moved to take his usual seat across from Tony. "I'm betting you could try."

"Do or do not," Tony slid a container across the table for him.  "There is no try."

Bucky's eyes narrowed at him, and he shook his head a little. "What kind of bullshit is that?"

"Wow, you're worse than Home-of-the-Free." Tony shook his head.  "Star Wars?"

"Must have missed the memo on that one." Bucky said flatly.

"Must have."

"Suppose I've got plenty of time to catch up on it all," Bucky shrugged.

Tony nodded around a bite of curry.  "Suppose so."

Silence fell over them, and eventually, Bucky reached out to take the portion of food he'd bought for himself.  He was tentative, like he was expecting the tenuous calm they'd established to break.  It wasn't until the silence stretched to painful levels that Bucky said something, quiet but almost deafening into the tension of the room.

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

"What about yesterday? Getting drunk and confessing all your dark painful secrets to a guy like me?" Tony eyed him, some mixture of unimpressed and unamused-- or perhaps just wary.  "Or expecting me to play as your judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Mostly the last one." Bucky mumbled. "I know I can't ask you for that. To do that."

"You're wrong," Tony wiped his mouth clean, tossing aside his napkin as he sat back.  "You _could_.  You'd just have to live in disappointment.  Because I've played those parts before, and I'm not overtly fond of repeat performances."

Bucky nodded slowly, understanding, even if it still rubbed something raw in him. "I didn't— I just… I didn't come here intending for  _that_  to happen.  It just— I don't know, I guess it was just something I _expected_ to happen.  Eventually."

Sniffing, Tony glanced away, all sharp lines and quiet disappointment.  "Well, you'll figure it out soon enough that I don't do well with expectations."

"Already figured that, actually." Bucky said, lips twitching up a little, almost fond.

"Oh?"

"It's a good thing.  I like it."  Bucky told him.

Tony looked at him, blinking owlishly a few times.  "That's a first."

"You aren't what I thought you'd be." Bucky said. "Expected you to be-- well. Different."

"Obviously," Tony muttered.  "Which were you expecting, then?  Psycho killer?  Or greedy philanderer?"

Bucky shrugged stiffly.  "I knew what happened in Siberia.  And that you had the book.”

“That book?  That’s the reason my parents are dead.”  Tony said with his teeth bared, voice raising.  “I didn’t want anything to do with that book.  I also didn’t want anyone else to get their greasy little monkey paws all over it.  But I know people expect the worst of me, and I knew that the good ol’ boy you’re shacking up with would _expect_ the _worst_ of me—and that he wouldn’t take my word that it was nothing but ash and soot.  So I gave it to you and him to take care of.”

Tony sat back in his chair, face a contortion of anger.

“And in Siberia?” Tony’s voice wavered.  “Well, I just watched a man murder my mother—brainwashed or not—and he was standing right next to me.  And then I find out that a man who I considered to be my friend, who knew my father, who I thought was pretty damn near close to family _knew_?  Didn’t tell me anything, not a word?”

Expression shuttering the way it was wont to do, Tony licked his lips and glanced away.  He took a few breaths, pulse pounding in his head, and then offered an agitated little shrug.

“I guess you’ll have to forgive me for acting a little irrationally,” Tony muttered.

Bucky looked away, an uncomfortable guilt creeping over him.  His fingers flexed, a ghost of the motion that had landed them in this mess in the first place.  Some days he wondered if he could still feel her throat give beneath his fingertips.

"I understand why you did what you did.  I'd do the same if I knew someone had hurt my mother like that.  I just— I suppose I wasn't expecting you to give up the book so easily.  You could have had your justice with it. I thought you'd want that."

“Justice?” Tony scoffed, shoving away from the table and striding deliberately over to his desk.

He rummaged around in it for a moment, under Bucky’s careful watch, before pulling out a manila folder.  The anger in him was heady and thick; it rolled off of him as he paced back over, like something wild and waiting to spring loose. 

Instead, he slapped the file down in front of Bucky.  It was open, pictures spilling out from inside of it, police forms and blacked out federal papers.  There was the photograph that Bucky rightly recognized as Hydra Colonel Vasily Karpov and another of the same man, much older, bloated and pale in death.  Tony’s face twitched as he stared down at the images, and he gestured to them with an overly careless hand as he sat back down.

“Justice would have been watching that man drown to death,” Tony said.  “He’s the one who gave you the orders, after all.  I did some digging—after.  That was one of Zemo’s first targets; he left a messy fucking trail in his wake.  It wasn’t hard.”

Bucky flinched at the sight.  Even after all this time, even in death, Karpov caused a reaction. Tentative fingers pulled the folder close, reading over the files Tony had compiled.  "Who else?"

“Between the files Karpov had hidden in his home—if you could call it that—and the ones Natasha released a couple of years back, I dredged up at least a dozen other names.  Most of the team who worked on the Winter Soldier projects are dead or hard underground,” Tony replied, mouth working.  “Those that aren’t are… out of my reach.  Otherwise they’d be dead too.”

"Out of your reach where?"  Bucky demanded.

“Locked up,” Tony replied, leaning across the table and slapping the file shut. 

For a moment, Bucky looked like he wanted to snatch the file back, but the hand he had rested on the tabled closed tight instead. "I still don't understand why you gave the book back."

Dipping his head, Tony caught his eyes, making him hold the look for a long moment before he even spoke.  “Because that’s exactly what you expected me to do.  What you expected the man who blew your arm off to do.  And as much as you may want me to be, I am not that man.”

"But it would have been easy for you to be that." Bucky told him. "But instead you helped me."

"I didn't do it for _you_ ," Tony said.

"Then who did you do it for?" Bucky asked.  "Can't have been for you.  How could helping someone like me be good for you?"

"Who else is there but me?" Tony grinned with a confidence that was as fake as every other persona he ever projected.

Bucky raised a brow at him.  "So.  You're telling me that you went out of your way to give me a new arm.  Which made me more of a threat considering I'm living with you, purely for your own personal gain?"

"That was a contractual obligation," Tony pointed to it.  "Don't know why people keep implying otherwise."

"You could have said no.  T'Challa would have given you that option."  Bucky replied.  "You aren't the only person who could make something like this."

"Like that?" Tony's brows flew up.  "Uh, actually yes, I am. No one else could make something like that, I can assure you.  But you're right. I didn't just do it for me.  I did it to make myself feel better, though.  For what I did to you.  Because I am selfish and greedy and everything you've ever thought of me."

Bucky seemed unfazed, expression softening even in the face of Tony's defensive arrogance. "You agreed to house a group of people who you were at odds with not six months ago, one of whom orphaned you, and another who betrayed your trust.  Might be because you’re guilty, but putting that much effort into the comfort of other people isn't the mark of a selfish man."

"The world is ending," Tony offered.  "I can't be a little charitable?"

"I think the world ending hasn't got much to do with it." Bucky said, peering at him.  "You've got heart."

Tony flinched back slightly, then wet his lips, smile fearsome.  "I think I mentioned I don't have one."

"Sure you don't." Bucky said, undaunted. "You don't have a heart and I don't have a soul."

"You can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Expect the worst of me one minute and the best of me the next," Tony said.  "It doesn't work like that."

"I know." Bucky admitted. "I can't help it sometimes."

"Stop expecting then."  Tony tugged his box of curry close.  "Accept who people are-- who I am.  Accept the fact that I  _am_  a selfish, self-serving son of a bitch who  _sometimes_  makes a good decision or two.  Do that?  And maybe you'll be halfway to accepting who  _you_ are." 

For a second, Bucky looked like he wanted to protest, but he settled again. "Okay, Freud. Whatever you say."

“Good.  You done now, by the way?” Tony gestured between the two of them with a waving piece of Naan.  “Apology accepted, or whatever.  This conversation is making me feel nauseous.”

"Yeah. Or whatever."  Bucky agreed, returning to his lunch.

There was a pause.  They ate in the easy hush that fell over them until Bucky spoke again.

"Y'know, you're alright.  For an asshole, I mean."

Snorting, Tony peered over at him from across the table.  “Yeah, you too.”

He let the quiet hang for a moment.

“For a nutcase, I mean.”


	7. Chapter 6: Up and Around the Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One man, two important conversations.

Back on the mats, Tony groaned, eyes squeezing shut and sweat trailing down over his skin.  A hand caught him by the shirtfront and hauled him up onto weak legs.  He wondered exactly why he’d thought this was a good idea and then remembered that it wasn’t his idea at all.

It had been three days since Bucky had come back down to invade his lab.  Three days of their usual lunches, of Bucky sitting and watching Tony overhaul the workshop in order to start building a new suit, and three days until Bucky looked at him between the bites of their Wednesday Chinese takeaway and demanded that Tony join him downstairs in the gym.  Tony had reluctantly agreed—more curious than anything—and had come to regret it about twenty minutes in.

From the edges of the mat, Natasha stood between Lang and Barton, who were sweaty from their own daily routine, clapping her hands.  Tony flipped her off.  He was already sweating through his shirt.

“This sucks,” he grunted.

Months of being cooped up in the Tower was starting to take its toll on Bucky. There was only so many times you could wander the same hallways before you got tired of your surroundings.  It was probably unfair for Bucky to challenge Tony, given their obvious physical differences, but he trusted him.  Trusted him not to dig up anything untoward, trusted himself not to push too hard.

Bucky hadn't even broken a sweat, hair pulled back out of his face as he waited for Tony to come at him again.  "I can see why you carry a suit with you all the time now."

“Oh, you’re making jokes now?  You gonna take that act on tour?”  Tony gestured between them with a lazy hand.  “You do see the massive difference in general mass here, right?  You could snap me in half even without that fancy arm.  Did I mention I made that for you?”

“He’s stalling,” Natasha drolled from the sidelines and Tony spat out a curse.

“This _sucks_ ,” he took a deep breath and then moved forward, hands up and ready. 

"Yeah.  You made me a new arm.  That's why I'm going easy on you.  But I'm not joking, your form’s sloppy.  Who taught you?" Bucky asked, charging forward to try and take Tony off his feet again, all calculated motions and well telegraphed blows, like he was trying to let Tony gain some ground.

“Nobody—“ Tony blocked one of Bucky’s hands with an open palm, pressing it away and using his hip to drive the force of his body into a turn that left him safe of having to parry any blows for a second.  “Nobody taught me anything.”

"Yeah, I can tell." Bucky retorted, looking more alive in that moment than he had since he'd arrived, a light in his eyes.  "Now are you gonna actually try hit me, or do I have to do all the work around here?"

“Oh, you’re definitely gonna have to do all the work.” Tony replied.  “Especially if I’m just gonna end up on my back again.”

“Kick his ass, Barnes.” Clint hollered, grin lopsided until Natasha elbowed him in the side.

"This is why I don't fuck with rich kids.  Don't like getting their hands dirty."  Bucky said, exasperated as he lunged at Tony, faster this time.

There were a few perfectly timed strikes that spoke of years of practice.   Tony could hardly keep up, blocking where he should be striking.  There was a great thud when Tony landed face first on the sparring mats, Bucky standing over him, a smug look on his face.

"Not on your back this time.  Still won't give me a challenge?"

Both Scott and Clint took it as invitation to celebrate a victory that wasn’t theirs. 

Grunting, Tony braced his weight on his hands and swung out.  He caught Bucky behind the knees with his right leg, and the larger man went tumbling.  Whether it was surprise or the force at a weak point in his stance, Bucky fell back onto the mats with a soft _oof_ that Tony took a great deal of satisfaction in hearing. 

“Challenge enough for you?” Tony asked, twisting over onto his elbows.

Bucky was still for a moment, back flat against the floor, breathing a little heavily.  A grin broke out on his face, broad and bright, eyes crinkling as he laughed, turning his head to look over at Tony for a second before he rose to his feet again, offering him a hand. 

"Yeah. Challenge enough."

“Oh, thank god.” Tony groaned, reaching up and letting Bucky pull him to his feet.

"Form’s still sloppy." Bucky added, hauling Tony up like he weighed nothing at all. "No wonder you get your ass kicked so much."

“I’ll have you know I’ve saved the world, like, twice.”

"Yeah, cause you can Macgyver your way out of things." Bucky retorted.  "Just gotta get the rest of you to catch up to your giant brain."

Tony paused, smile small but amused, still hovering in the space Bucky pulled him into.  "I feel like that was a compliment."

"It was." Bucky confirmed, lingering for a moment before he pulled back, adjusting the padding he'd wrapped around his left hand.

Placing a hand over his chest where is arc reactor used to be, Tony feigned a swoon.  "Be still, my beating heart."

"That's--that's less funny than you think it is," Natasha called.  "You know, considering."

Bucky turned to look at her, head tilting a little.  "Considering what?"

"Considering how many times he's gone into cardiac arrest," Clint replied.

"Oh, are we keeping count now?" Tony caught the towel Natasha threw his way.

Bucky turned to look at Tony, brow up. "Oh, so it's multiple times?"

Tony hesitated, wiping his face.  "Yes?"

"Is it three, now?" Natasha asked, smile twitching on her lips when Tony cast a frown her way.  "And are we counting the time you nearly poisoned yourself to death?  Or the time you did it on purpose?"

"Pepper told you about that?" Tony's brows drew together, expression clouding.

"One of her favorite stories," Natasha replied, scanning him, her gaze shifting subtly. "Proof that Tony Stark has a heart."

Cheek twitching, Tony glanced away, and he hid his face in the towel, wiping sweat away from his forehead.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Bucky mumbled, more to himself than to either Natasha or Tony. "You're nearly as bad as Rogers, you know that?"

Tony tossed the towel aside, expression riddling with irritation.  "Yeah, well, when there's shrapnel trying to burrow its way through to your heart, you generally start to make a couple of rash decisions."

"Wait, that was _true_?" Scott blinked, faltering only slightly when Natasha cast him a long look.  " _What_?  There was a lot of speculation about that glowy thing in your chest."

"When it's as easy to kill a superhero as ripping a chunk of metal out from their ribcage, you tend not to broadcast it as news," Tony replied.

Bucky peered at him, brows drawn in.  "What happened?"

“Long story.”

Bucky eyed him for a second, almost tempted to push for more information.  There was something there that Tony was hiding, but for now Bucky would let it slide. "Yeah, I'll bet it is."

“Well, I’m all ears.” Scott said, practically bouncing. 

The look that both Natasha and Tony gave him was one that was short on patience.  He offered a meek grin, glancing between them, then gestured over to where the open floor tapered toward where the showers were located.

“I’ll just, uh… yeah.” Scott cleared his throat and started backing away.

“Clint,” Natasha hooked Barton by the arm.  “Upstairs?”

His brows drew upward.  “Depends on what’s upstairs.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you had an appointment with your wife, but if you’d prefer not to—“

“Oh, shit.” Clint took Natasha’s wrist, already dragging her away.

Bucky offered Natasha and Clint a nod in farewell as they departed, eyeing Lang with something like judgement as he turned away from them.  He worked the wrap around his left hand loose, pulling it free where it caught places.  Next to him, Tony crouched down, tightening the laces of his sneakers.  Before long they were alone, and from where he stood by the side wall of the gym, Bucky cleared his throat.

"So.  You gonna tell me what all that shrapnel business was?"

“Pretty sure there’s a file floating around a database somewhere with all of that information,” Tony mumbled, chin to his chest.  “Happened a long time ago.”

"If you want me to know, you'll tell me.  I'm not about to go lurking around in other people's files to satisfy my curiosity." Bucky told him.

With a sigh, Tony looked up at him, gaze more tired than angry.  “Like I said, it’s a long story.” 

"Alright. Fair enough." Bucky said, giving a little shrug.  "I've got time if you do."

Plopping back onto the mats, Tony peered up at him for a long moment.  He squinted, then looked away with a bemused laugh, shaking his head.  Arms draped over his knees, Tony offered up a weak shrug of his own.  He gestured to the mat next to him.

“Not sure what you want to know,” Tony said.  “There was an accident that wasn’t exactly an accident.  One of my own weapons blew up in my face—literally.”

Bucky winced in sympathy, as if he knew exactly what it would have looked like. "So.  They couldn't just take the shrapnel out?"

“Bit more complicated than that.  Are you going to hover the whole time?”

"Don't I always?" Bucky retorted, flashing him a bit of a smile as he moved away a little, cleaning up the gym floor a bit from their other teammates’ sparring with the practice tools.

After he’d stacked them in their respective places on the rack installed into the wall, he turned back to Tony to see him still and quiet on the mats.  He gave Tony his space, moving to lean back against the wall.  Waiting, he watched as Tony let out another one of those heavy sighs, head hanging between his shoulders.

“I couldn’t get the shrapnel out because when I was taken, there was no one around to do it.”  Tony finally said after a rather lengthy pause.  “In fact, the only reason I survived at all was because a very smart man placed a very powerful magnet in my chest.  Kept the shrapnel from, well, shredding.”

"You had a magnet keeping the shrapnel in place?"  Bucky said, brows furrowing in a little, slowly edging a little closer to him.

“Electromagnet, yeah.”  Tony glanced over his shoulder at him.  “I, uh, replaced it with the arc reactor not long after that.  Or a version of it.  Didn’t really have the time or resources to do anything fancy until later.”

Bucky blinked at him. Once. Twice. "You had an arc reactor embedded in your chest?"

“Until a few years ago, yeah.”

"Jesus. I just thought it was part of the suit." Bucky said, expression contorting.  "That's fucked up."

“Saved my life more than once,” Tony mumbled with a rather meek shrug.  “Saved the world once too.  Why are we talking about this again?”

"Bonding over trauma?" Bucky offered, something reassuring about the way he spoke, warm and steady.  "Bearing our souls?  Or something stupidly poetic like that."

“Usually I just drink.”  Tony frowned.  “Or get laid.  Or both.”

"Well, this is less pathetic than the former, but not as fun as the latter." Bucky shrugged.  "So, I guess it works."

Tony, lips pursed, leaned back onto his hands to peer up at him.  “Alright.  Metal arm, metal heart.  You were held captive by Hydra, I was held captive by Ten Rings.  Oodles and noodles of common ground there.”

"We aren't so different, you and me." Bucky inclined his head a little, considering.  Slowly, a smile curled over his lips, roguish and charming.  "Except, I'm better looking."

“If I wasn’t so offended, I’d be inclined to agree.”

"Better learn to accept it.  You're the brains, I'm the pretty face." Bucky said, something cheeky about it.

“I’ll have you know I am _very_ pretty.”  Tony insisted.  “ _Forbes_ ’ Most Eligible Bachelor seven years in a row.  Even after—well.”

He made a vague gesture toward his chest.

"Well then it's about time you had a little competition, pretty boy."  Bucky retorted, grin spreading.

The color that spread over Tony’s face was unexpected.  Clearing his throat, Tony glanced away, smile wry and tone nonchalant even as his face burned.

“Quality competition,” Tony said.  “Weren’t you asking me about my dark, painful secrets?”

The flush of color on Tony's cheeks bought a smug look to Bucky face, chuckling a little. "I was, yeah. You wanna elaborate?"

“Depends on what you want to hear,” Tony fidgeted.  “There’s a pretty long list.”

"Whatever you wanna talk about I guess." Bucky shrugged.

“Well, since we started with my origin story, I guess we might as well stick with it.”  Tony dragged a hand through his hair, mouth pressing into a thin line.  “It was during a weapons demonstration, back when I still did those.  Things went wrong afterward, and I woke up in a cave with a car battery attached to the magnet in my chest, keeping the shrapnel from one of my own bombs from killing me.”

Bucky whistled out a low sound. "You got fucked up by your own bomb. Guess that's a good of a reason as any to get out of the business."

“I got out of the business because the weapons I thought I was developing to protect people were being used to murder them.”  Tony snapped, then took a shaky little breath.  “It was about money.  I didn’t realize what was going on, I didn’t—I wasn’t—“

Shoving to his feet, he shifted away, all agitated lines and stifled static.  He wet his lips, eyes falling shut for a long moment.  When he opened them again, they were dark in a way that Bucky had seen more than once in his own reflection.

“I was blind,” Tony confessed.  “I didn’t see what was right in front of me.  The bomb blowing up in my face was just the catalyst.”

Before Tony knew what was happening, there was a pair of strong arms curled around him, pulling him in tight.  Bucky reeled Tony in close, his metal arm looped carefully around Tony’s waist, the other over his shoulders.  Long fingers found their way to the back of Tony's neck, delicate and gentle, squeezing just slightly.

Uneasy, Tony stiffened, his heart beating out an odd staccato beneath his ribcage.  The hand at the back of his neck was warm; the fingers rough.  Tony shuddered and frowned.

As Bucky pulled back, after a long second, he ducked his head to catch Tony’s eyes.  "You didn't know. Can't blame you for that."

"There's still blood on my hands," he said.  "Ignorance doesn't change that."

"I know." Bucky said quietly, expression soft. "But you heal."

"I'm not the one who needs to heal," Tony insisted.

Bucky raised his brows at him, staring at him for another moment before he pulled away.  "Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that, Tony."

Tony's expression twisted up.  "Why do people insist on thinking they know me better than I know myself? You, Rogers, Pepper--hell, Obi did it when he was alive and look where it got him."

"Obi?" Bucky asked.

"The reason I am who I am," Tony said.  "He was--he ran the company when I couldn't. Mentored me after my… He took care of me. Or I thought that he did, anyway.  Then he pulled my arc reactor out, told me he'd wanted me to die out there in the desert, and walked away as my heart stopped beating."

Something fierce burned through Bucky expression, altering everything about the way he stood until he towered over the man standing before him.  Something deeply protective reared its head, setting a fire behind his eyes. "You're telling me he strung you along and then tried to kill you. Twice."

"More than twice," Tony huffed, palming the back of his head, turning his back to Bucky.  "He was my dad's friend, partner, drinking buddy.  He took care of me."

Bucky huffed out a sound, something tight in his chest.  "He took care of himself.  Deserved all that came to him.  Whatever that may have been."

Tony frowned down at his feet.  "I tried to save him.  In the end."

Bucky hesitated for a second, breathing out a long sigh.  "It's okay.  I get that."

"Do you?" Tony finally looked up at him again, something like agony in his eyes. 

Bucky nodded, quiet for a second before he spoke, words stilted. "When I was running, Hydra came after me for a while.  I didn't want to go back, but I-- I didn't want to hurt them either.  They just wanted me to go home."

Eyeing him, Tony’s face pinched in conflict.  A recalcitrant hand came out before coming to rest on Bucky’s shoulder, giving an easy squeeze.  He let it linger only for a moment before pulling it back to himself.

“Your home was never with them,” Tony said.  “If anywhere, it’s with Rogers.”

A fond little smile curled Bucky's lips up, and he huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah.  Yeah, I know he is now.  Just… took me a little while to remember."

“It’s good that you did,” Tony replied.  “He’s a menace.”

"He rubs off on you after a while." Bucky shrugged. "Grow to love it."

Snorting faintly, Tony scrubbed his hands over his face.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The elevator doors a few yards away slid open.  Both of them looked over as Steve stepped out onto the floor, looking a bit more agitated than he would have probably liked.  He strode across the workspace, expression set firm, eyes narrowed more on Tony than they were on Bucky.  His hands were in loose fists at his sides, but the tension along the line of his shoulders was more than evident.

Tony had to stifle a laugh against his wrist, his own features quickly drawing closed as Steve approached them.  He glanced at his watch, affecting a casual stance as he offered a nonchalant smile up at Bucky.

“Speak of the devil,” he said.  “I should probably—“

“Nat mention you two were sparring,” Steve cut in, almost accusing.

Tony cleared his throat.  “Were, meaning past tense.  Your boy kicked my ass anyway.”

“Not surprising,” Steve muttered, eyeing Tony for another moment before his gaze flit to Bucky; it was not irritation but worry that had him so needled.  “Have a good time?”

The tension strung tight over Steve's shoulders sent something warm flushing through Bucky's chest, a little smile curling his lips.  If Steve hadn't looked so worried, it would have been amusing.

"Yeah, I did.  He put me on the floor once though.  I'm getting cocky."  Bucky said, reaching out to brush a hand at one of Steve's, fingers touching in a chaste move of affection.

Steve's expression softened considerably.  "Who decided pitting you two against one another was a good idea?"

"Definitely not me," Tony held up his hands, already backing away.  "In fact, I think I hear FRIDAY calling."

“Wanted to blow off some steam." Bucky told Steve, turning to look back at Tony, a smile on his face. "Funny, I can't hear a thing."

“Must be old age.” Tony quipped.  “What are you, pushing a hundred?”

"Don't look a day over thirty."  Bucky retorted, raising a brow at him.

Tony tsked slightly, then looked away from the pair of them, almost bashful as he glanced furtively down at his watch again.  “Oh, look at that.  I’m late for a phone call with a number of very boring people.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but turned his back to let Tony take his leave if he wanted to.  He lingered a little closer to Steve, offering a grin that was unbelievably fond.

"I'm sure you don't want to keep them waiting." Steve said, some of the edge in his voice dissipating.

“Right.  Yeah.  Course not.”  Tony eased away, already aiming toward the elevator.  “Later, Barnes.  Rogers.”

He fled without another word. 

It was only when he was in the elevator, doors closed behind him, that Steve finally relaxed completely.  He glanced over at the steel doors, brows up, and then back at Bucky. 

Their fingers tangled and Steve shuffled closer a step.  He reached up with his other hand, tugging at one of the dark strands that had fallen loose during Bucky and Tony’s spar.  His expression was curious, but his smile was lopsided. 

“You sure you just didn’t want to kick his ass or something?” Steve asked.

Bucky laughed a little, tugging him in ever closer. "Unlike some people, I don't just want to beat people up. We were just messing around, takes the edge off being cooped up in here all the time."

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, rolling his shoulders.  “It gets a bit restless around here.”

Bucky hummed out a soft sound, reaching his other hand up to smooth over Steve's shoulder. "Think we'll be able to leave soon?"

“Could always sneak out for a bit,” Steve waggled his brows.  “Bum on a freight train down the coast.  Just like old times.”

"Trouble maker." Bucky accused, though it was light hearted at best, shoving gently at his shoulder with his own. "I think we'd stick out a little more now anyways."

Steve conceded with a nod.  “We’d at least catch the train easier.  Super muscles and all that.”

"Could probably out run the train." Bucky said. "Or maybe we could borrow one of Tony's cars.  And by borrow, I mean hotwire.  I could talk FRIDAY outta telling him."

Brows drawing together, Steve peered at him for a moment.  “You’re spending more and more time with him.  Should I be worried, or are you taking my advice?”

Bucky's expression sobered a little. "We've dealt with our little issues.  S'just kinda nice to have someone to talk with who doesn't try make me talk.”

Chagrined, Steve palmed the back of his head and looked down.  He heaved out a sigh, gazing at Bucky from under his brows, light eyes big and more than a little apologetic.

“I just worry,” Steve muttered.  “But I’m glad he makes you feel comfortable.  At least enough to hang around.”

Bucky squeezed at his hand gently, thumb brushing over the top of his knuckles.  "I know you do.  I just like having a little space sometimes.  It's not your fault."

“I know,” Steve smiled, leaning in for a moment, head canted to press a slow kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth.  “Did you have a good talk, then?  Or not-talk?”

Bucky shrugged a little in consideration. "He told me about the arc reactor. Didn't know he had one embedded in his chest. Told me about a guy called Obi, who sounds like a real piece of shit."

“Wait,” Steve reared back slightly.  “Tony talked to _you_ about _him_?”

Bucky nodded, a little confused. "Yeah. I mean, not the specifics.  But he told me enough."

“Sorry, it’s just… Tony doesn’t— _Stark_ doesn’t really talk to anyone.  Ever.  I’ve known the guy for years and he barely… He’s a just a hard nut to crack.”

"Oh.  Well, I guess I managed to coax it out of him." Bucky shrugged. "It's kind of a you show me yours, I'll show you mine deal."

Steve’s expression brightened some in amusement.  “So you showed him yours?”

Bucky laughed, rolling his eyes as he played along. "Yeah, I did. The whole thing. World will never be the same."

With a snort, Steve tugged him closer.  Their bodies pressed flush, Steve hummed, eyes glinting with mirth.

“So he told you about the arc reactor,” Steve concluded, voice a bit low and gaze a bit lower.  “I’ve read about it, in his file back before we were a team.  Not sure who Obi is.”

Bucky hesitated for a second, uncomfortable before he spoke.  "Used to run the business.  Tried to have Tony murdered a couple times."

“Obi,” Steve muttered, lost in thought for a second before his brows flew up.  “Wait, Obadiah Stane?”

"Uh.  Yeah, I guess.  I didn't get a name."  Bucky said.  "He was light on the details."

Lips pressing thin, Steve shifted uneasily on his feet.  “If it’s the same guy, it—shit.”

Stepping away from the comforting heat of Bucky’s body, Steve let out a long sigh and dragged his hand through his hair.  His smile was a tight one—more of a grimace than anything else.  He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him as he paced a few steps away.  He only turned around when he heard Bucky move, rubbing a hand over his jaw, the other at his hip.

“If it’s the same guy, he was more than Tony’s business partner.”  Steve said.  “In the file, he’s listed as Tony’s godfather.  And it doesn’t say anything about—well.” 

Bucky's expression darkened.  "He's dead.  He's gotta be, there's no way Tony was so cut up about it if he was still out there."

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

"Yeah, pretty much." Bucky agreed. "What did you think happened to him?”

“Didn’t think much about him,” Steve shrugged.  “There’s _nothing_ in Stark’s file that indicated his abduction had anything to do with Stane.”

Bucky mumbled a curse under his breath. "Well, he had it organized.  Tried to kill him after too, when it didn't work."

“Did Tony tell you how?”

Bucky nodded, gesturing to his chest vaguely. "Yeah.  Uh.  He took the reactor out."

Steve paled considerably.  “Oh.”

Bucky gave a little sigh.  "Yeah.  Pretty much. Guys got some skeletons in his closet, I can tell you that."

“No kidding.”

"Explains why he doesn't trust anyone." Bucky said.

“It explains a lot of things,” Steve replied, tone tight in something that might’ve been anguish.  “Someone who you trusted betraying you like that… God, no wonder he snapped so hard in Siberia.”

Bucky nodded, solemn, shifting on his feet a little. "He's been burned before."

“I didn’t…” Steve looked to him, almost desperate.  “I didn’t know.  I was just trying to protect you.  To protect _him_.”

"Hey, hey.  It's okay.  I get it.  I understand." Bucky said, quiet and soft as he moved closer to Steve again, reaching out a hand to him. "What happened happened.  You can't change that.  And that's alright.  You did what you thought was best."

“I know, I just…” Steve sighed, taking Bucky’s hand in his and shuffling close, resting his forehead against his.  “I was so angry with him.  For what he tried to do.  If I’d just told him, maybe—maybe he wouldn’t have reacted so badly.  Maybe he wouldn’t run away every time I walked into a room.”

Bucky hummed out a little sound, moving a hand up to press against Steve's cheek. "I know you were.  It's alright, he'll come around eventually.  He just-- needs a little time."

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, nodding and canting his head to lean his face into his palm.  “Yeah, you’re right.”

Bucky offered him a little smile, pressing a quick kiss to Steve's lips before he pulled away. "Come on.  Let's go home.  Gotta wash the Stark sweat off me."

Chuckling, Steve followed as Bucky led him.  “Yeah, okay.  Mind if I join you?”

Bucky shot him a grin. "Do I ever?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obadiah Stane is a ballsack.


	8. Chapter 7: What Is & What Never Should Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation stirs up more than just memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: PTSD and anxiety attacks; alcohol abuse

The bed was a messy tangle of sheets.  Standing in front of the window, half empty bottle in one hand, the other rubbing absent at the center of his chest, Tony stared out over the city with glassy eyes. 

There was a terrifying blankness to his face.  An empty kind of presence.  Absence.  The shadows under his eyes were heavy, the line of his shoulders burdened. 

In the distance, the sun was rising.  It painted the New York skyline in yellows and pinks.  Tony’s face was alight in red.  His hair fell in his face, longer than it had been in a handful of years.  His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, and he brought it up, taking one long pull.  It burned on the way down, much more than any of the good stuff he stocked would have. 

He wanted it to burn. 

As the sunlight caught the edges of the city, it looked like a world on fire.  He turned away, heart thudding uncomfortably fast beneath his breastbone.

“ _Breathe_ ,” there was a high pitched ringing in his ears.  “ _Easy, easy_.”

Lurching on his feet, Tony had to steady himself with a hand on the glass.  His fingers curled into a fist and he sucked in one tight breath after another. 

“ _Your father—he helped give us the atomic bomb._ ”  He could smell the acrid remnants of ash.  “ _Now what kind of world would it be today if he was as selfish as you_?”

Tony’s heart stammered.  In the distance, he could hear the ninth symphony swell. 

His knees buckled.

“Sir?”

Tony gasped, sliding to the carpet, eyes squeezing shut. 

“ _It’s beautiful.”_

There was blue light on his face.  Pain in his chest.  He could not move.

“Sir, your pulse is at an increasingly elevated rate.” FRIDAY said.  “Should I call Miss Potts—“

“No,” Tony croaked, back to the window, letting the cheap whiskey slip from his fingers so that he could bury his head in his hands.  “No.  I’m fine.”

FRIDAY hesitated.  “You have not slept in forty-six hours, sir.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.  “I just… I just need some coffee.”

There was another pause.  “The French press is downstairs, Mr. Stark.  Perhaps you should head down?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, nodding in a distant way as he rubbed at his chest and fumbled to his feet.  “Yeah, I should.”

* * *

 

There was no cup of coffee to greet Bucky that morning when he woke, but when he shifted against the bed, he found himself pressed against the solid warmth of Steve's chest.  A soft smile curled his lips, fond as he lingered for a moment before he slowly removed himself from Steve's grasp.

He returned a few short moments later, setting a cup of coffee on Steve's bedside table, taking his own and settling back into bed, propped up against the headboard. Slowly, he felt Steve rouse next to him, metal fingers warmed from his coffee cup petting through blond hair as he woke.

"Morning," Bucky murmured, fingers stilling in his hair.

"Morning." Steve replied over a yawn, rolling over onto his back and hitching himself up in bed slowly.  "What time is it?"

"Nearly eight."  Bucky replied, sipping at his coffee.  

Steve whistled out a low sound, reaching out to grab his own mug.

"Sam's gonna take the shit out of me later for ditching him."

Bucky's lips twitched up, swinging his legs around to get out of bed.  "Can make it up to him later over breakfast.  Come on."

* * *

 

It took them some half an hour to finally come out for breakfast, Bucky taking Steve in tow as they took the elevator up.  Just as the doors were sliding open to the common area, the sound of raised voices brought the both of them to a standstill.  He felt Steve come to settle behind him, both of their jaws ticking tight, brows drawing together as they surveyed the sight that greeted them; Barton and Stark exchanging mutually bitter glares across the dining room table at one another.

Tony was hovering by the coffee maker, expression almost bright in the heat of conflict, though there was something not quite right in his eyes.  By the door that lead into the kitchen, Scott hovered uncertainly.  There was breakfast on the table, though it was mostly untouched.

"Clint," Natasha warned, tone low, from where she stood at Clint’s side.

"Y'know, I am so sick of you sticking out your neck for this guy."  Clint snapped.  "He's nothing but greedy and self-serving and selfish."

"Gee, Barton, tell me how you really feel." Tony drolled, leaning against the counter as he sipped his coffee.

His smile was sharp, but his hands were shaking.

"How I really feel?" Clint sneered.  "Five months, Stark.  You spend five months away from your family and tell me how you feel.  Oh, I'm sorry.  You don't have one.  You're _alone_."

Tony took another drink from his mug.

"I wonder why that is," Clint said in a dubious tone, eyes narrowed.

At his side, Natasha grimaced.

"You finished with your tantrum, yet?" Tony asked, voice brittle.  "Or are you ready to stop bitching and put your big boy pants on?"

Natasha had to lay a hand on Clint's arm.  Scott rocked back on his heels, glancing a bit excitedly between them, a glass of orange juice in hand.

Bucky huffed out a sound.  And to think he had been having a good morning.

Slowly, he moved into the dining area, Steve close behind him.  He settled a few feet away from Tony, by the head of the table, glancing at Natasha for a second, something pointed about it.  They were close enough that he didn't need to raise his voice much to catch her attention.  Somebody needed to step in before Barton tore Stark's head off and used it for target practice.

He inclined his head towards the elevator, and murmured out a few quiet words, navigating Russian like he'd been born to it. "Если вы держите Бартона здесь, Я возьму Тони."

Her gaze shifted to him and her fingers curled more securely over Clint’s arm.  “да.”

Clint's entire expression twisted.  "You think you're so fucking clever--"

"Yes, actually, I do."  Tony grinned, all sharp teeth.

Before either of them could get another word in, Bucky had a hand gripped around Tony's upper arm, dragging him from the dining room, expression flat.  Tony didn’t quite struggle, though he did drag his feet, brows drawing together and coffee spilling over his fingers.  Bucky’s grip didn't falter until he had Tony well away from the kitchen, and even as it loosened, he didn't let Tony go.  

"What crawled up your ass and died today?"

“I’m sorry, did I invite you into my conversation?” Tony’s eyes narrowed, fingers tight on his coffee cup.

Bucky shot him a glare, leaning in, his voice lowering.  "I'm not helping Natasha clean your ass up off the floor when Barton leaves you in a heap.  Because we both know that's where that was going."

“Oh, really?” Tony blinked, mock surprise harsh on his tongue.  “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

He shrugged away from Bucky’s arm, casting a furtive glance over to where Natasha and Clint were speaking in hushed tones, Steve hovering at their side.  Jaw flexing, Tony shrugged, fixing the way his shirt hung across his shoulders.  It was only as he sighed that Bucky caught the scent of booze lingering on him.

Bucky's nose crinkled at the reek of it, huffing out a sharp breath.  "Seriously?  At this hour?"

“The words _eat a dick_ are coming to mind,” Tony glared up at him.  “Though, if it helps, I started yesterday after five.”

Bucky took a hold of his arm again, expression stern as he dragged him toward the elevator.  "Come on."

“You’re gonna want to let me go,” Tony warned, voice low.

"Or what?" Bucky asked, halting abruptly so he could turn to him. "You gonna make me regret it, Stark?"

"I guess that depends on where exactly you're planning on taking me."

Bucky said nothing until they were in the elevator, jabbing at the button for Tony's floor.  "You're going to go shower, because you reek like a burnt out distillery."

Laughing, almost hysteric, Tony leaned back against the elevator wall.  "Well. I've smelled worse."

"I've smelt corpses rosier than you are right now." Bucky retorted, shoving him through the elevator door when it opened.

Stumbling, Tony bared his teeth in a snarl, shaking the coffee that spilled over his fingers off.  "I'm still trying to figure out exactly why the fuck you think you're allowed to drag me around."

"It's not that complicated, Einstein." Bucky grunted, herding him through the apartment.  

Despite the fact that Bucky had never been in Tony's suite, he found his way around with relative ease, shoving at Tony's shoulder to get him into the bathroom.  The coffee cup Tony was clutching pattered to the tile floor, cracking down the middle. 

Tony twisted, trying to protest, and Bucky took him by the back of neck.  His grip was unyielding as he urged him over to the shower stall.

"Don't make me do it for you."

“Or _what_?” Tony spat his words back at him.

Bucky's eyes narrowed a little, and he reached into the shower to turn on the water, unceremoniously dragging Tony under the spray. "Or that."

Sputtering, Tony shoved at Bucky’s hands hopelessly.  The water was cold—near icy—and it sent a shock down his spine.  He shuddered, full-bodied from head to toe, eyes squeezing shut under the harsh cascade.  Hair matting to his forehead, Tony grit his teeth even as they started to chatter. 

“Fu—“ Tony shuddered again, clothes clinging, water stinging his skin.  “ _Fuck_ you, Barnes.”

Bucky looked at him for a second, releasing him and stepping out before he turned to close the door behind him, voice echoing through the bathroom.  "Hurry it up, Tony.  I'm not getting any younger out here."

There was a heavy _thud_ , like Tony threw something at the space Bucky had occupied, but there wasn’t a reply. 

Bucky left the bathroom, padding across the tile and then the plush carpet of Tony’s bedroom before he made himself at home in Tony's suite, settling on the couch with his arms spread over the back.  He propped his feet up onto the coffee table, crossing his legs at the ankle.  The leather of the chaise was soft against his back, supple and well-worn.  The only sound was the dull rush of water from Tony’s shower.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of the elevator door opening.  Bucky looked over his shoulder, watching at Steve stepped out, brows drawn together over his eyes, jaw tight.  

"What're you doing up here?"

Bucky shifted over, making space next to him between the couch and the throw pillows. "Intervening."

Steve raised a brow, settling on the couch. "Yeah, I got that part, but where's Tony?"

"In the shower."

Steve blinked at him a few times.  "What?"

"He reeked like nothing else, so I made him shower." Bucky replied, shrugging a little. "How's Barton?"

"Angry." Steve told him, letting out a quiet sigh. "But Nat's dealing with it."

Bucky hummed out a little sound, glancing up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY, how's he doing in there?"

“His heartrate has calmed considerably,” FRIDAY replied in an even tone.  “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky grunted out a little sound of satisfaction.  "Tell him he better get his ass out here while we're still breathing."

There was a pause.

“I’m afraid he requires a bit more time,” FRIDAY said.  “He is currently suffering the after effects of his episode.”

"Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  We can wait." Bucky said.

Beside him, Steve shifted a little.  "FRIDAY? Tell him I'm here too, can you?"

“Of course, Captain.”

There was the faint sound of running water, but it was otherwise quiet.  On the coffee table there was a mess of scattered papers—schematics, perhaps—and an empty bottle beneath it. 

One arm draped over the back of the couch, Steve let out a soft breath and rubbed his hand over his face.  “You know what happened?  Or did you just toss him in the shower?”

Bucky shook his head.  "I know he's been drinking since five last night.  Hell, or maybe five the day before.  I just shoved him in there to sober him up a bit.  He can tell us later if he wants to.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed with a grimace.  “Not how I expected our morning to go.  Tony doesn’t ever really rear his head in the common areas.”

"I think he was looking for a fight. Barton was just there." Bucky said, something tired in his voice.

“You think he _wanted_ to get his ass kicked?” Steve asked, almost laughing, as though just the thought was so absurd it was nearly funny.

Bucky nodded. "I think so."

“Why would he--?”

There was a loud crash from the bathroom and a string of curses that followed.  Both Bucky and Steve could make out Tony’s lividity from the way he seemed to spit his AI’s name even as her voice broadcasted calmly overhead.

“ _FRIDAY, don’t—“_

“Mr. Barnes. Captain.” She greeted.  “Excuse the interruption, but Mr. Stark needs your assistance.”

"He better have pants on." Bucky muttered, pushing himself off of the couch with a grunt.

Steve followed close behind him, though when they reached Tony’s room, he faltered.  It was a mess—the bed a mass of rumpled sheets, a number of empty bottles by it, clothes discarded somewhere around the foot.  He pressed on, lingering in the doorway between Tony’s bedroom and Tony’s bathroom even as Bucky headed over to the shower.

The water was still running and the room had filled with steam.  Even the vast mirrors on the far wall had fogged over. 

A careful hand pulled the glass door of the shower stall open, and Bucky seemed to sigh as he peered inside.  Easing closer, Steve looked over his shoulder, spotting Tony where he had crumbled to the tile floor of the shower—still dressed, his head in his hands, his body trembling even under the onslaught of water that was undoubtedly too hot.  Steve’s jaw ached as he grit his teeth, palms itching as Bucky crouched down to level with Tony where he was huddled against the far wall of the shower. 

There were plastic bottles strewn over the ground, making odd hollow sounds as water pelted down onto them.  The shelves built into the back corner were empty.  Tony was curled in on himself, shaking as he took one measured breath after another, his dark hair hanging limp in his face.

“Mr. Stark was attempting to exit the shower when his right knee buckled, likely due to fatigue and stress.”  FRIDAY told them.

Tony huffed out a strained laugh.  “FRIDAY, _please_ —“

“He has not slept for forty-nine hours and his vital levels have been elevated to dangerous levels for most of that time,” FRIDAY added.  “That is not taking into account the amount of alcohol he has consumed—“

“ _FRIDAY_ —“

“—nor does it take into account the anxiety attack that was triggered at approximately eight o’clock this morning.”

"What're we gonna do with you?" Bucky said on a breath, though it wasn't really aimed at either of them.  Bucky moved to turn the taps off, water reverberating strangely when it hit his arm.  He paused for a second, nudged at Tony's shoulder and then got to his feet, offering him a hand.  "Come on.  Let's get you outta here."

Tony laughed again, a bit more bitter, and he reached up without looking, letting Bucky pull him to his unsteady feet.  Dripping, he let Bucky guide him out of the shower, and when he swayed slightly, he did not say anything as a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“We know,” Steve’s voice was pointedly steady.  “You just need some sleep, Tony.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a hand at his brow, hiding his eyes or maybe steadying himself.  “Yeah, I just need some sleep.”

"And clothes that aren't soaked."  Bucky added, taking the bulk of Tony's weight easily, settling him down on the edge of the bed as gently as he could.  He pulled his arm away, and looked around the room, brows furrowing at the chaos of it.  "I'm not helping you change. But you gotta have some clothes around this dump somewhere?"

Tony made a general gesture with one of his hands over to the wood paneling on the far right of the room.  “I’ll manage.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a dubious look.

“If Mr. Stark needs any further assistance, I will notify the both of you.” FRIDAY said.

They lingered in the room for a moment before Steve brushed at Bucky's shoulder to get him to come away, deciding it might be best to let Tony have a little space.  They didn't go far, well within earshot should something happen.  Neither of them made an effort to sit again, occasionally casting glances to the closed door Tony was behind. 

"That’s a hell of a long time to be up." Steve said, after a long silence.

Bucky huffed out a little sound, like a laugh, but it carried little amusement.  "Yeah.  I'd want someone to hit me too if I'd been awake that long."

Steve shot him a flat look, though there was no real acidity to it.  "Guess I can't blame the guy for picking a fight."

Bucky hummed out a sound, considering, falling back to silence as they waited.  There was no sound beyond the door save for the occasional _thud_ of feet against the carpet, and the steady slide of rollers on paneling.  The quiet stretched on until finally FRIDAY interrupted it.

 _"_ Mr. Stark has finally fallen asleep _._ "  

"Thought he'd put up more of a fuss." Bucky remarked, moving up to the door and opening it just enough for he and Steve to look inside.  "Aw shit, look at him."

Tony had apparently not made the effort to bother with his bed covers, piled in a heap on top of unmade sheets, haphazardly dressed in an old pair of sweats.  Steve's expression softened a little, and after a second of hesitation, he moved from where he stood behind the door and entered the room.  He hardly made a sound as he paused to pick up the blanket that had fallen off the edge of Tony's bed, draping it over him only to retreat back to the door.

Bucky raised a brow, smile crooked and small, but before he could say anything Steve cut him off.  "Shut it, Barnes.  Don't want him getting cold, that's all."

On the bed, Tony huffed out a breath and turned over, sprawled out on his belly with his face burying against the pillows.  Hair wet and skin warm, he curled into the sheets.  His brows were furrowed tight, but he otherwise looked near peaceful.

Gesturing to the door with his head, Steve coaxed them both back out into the main part of Tony's suite, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.  He let out a breath, not realizing head been holding it, and looked to Bucky.

"What do you think set all of this off?" he asked.

"He was okay yesterday when he left.  Mostly."  Bucky said, inclining his head a little, thoughtful. "Although he was a little rattled, when I asked about Stane."

"You think it was just talking about it? About Stane and what happened?"

Bucky nodded.  "I think so.  I mean, unless something else happened."

Steve took a hesitant look upward.  "FRIDAY?"

"Mr. Stark spent the rest of the afternoon on a conference call with experts down at NASA. Afterwards, he made his way to his private rooms and began drinking while working."

"Well.  Unless he got all emotional about space, I think it was Stane."  Bucky said, breathing out a sigh.

"Thank you, FRIDAY." Steve muttered.

"Of course, Captain."

Bucky was quiet for a long second, expression contorting. "Maybe I shouldn't have pried like I did."

Steve placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder.  "It was a good thing you did, Buck. Getting him to talk. I was wondering if he'd told anyone about Stane before."

"He'd have told Miss Potts." Bucky said, certain. "Tells her everything."

Mouth pressing thin, Steve shifted in his feet.  "Should we-- I dunno, you think we should call her?"

Bucky's brows furrowed in. "Tell her about Tony?"

"Ask her about Stane," Steve shrugged.  "Something.  I mean, he and her are--or were, at least, something of an item.  And I know they're still friends, I think."

"Explains why he looks like he does whenever she calls," Bucky said. “Think we should bother her? I mean, what if she doesn't know?"

"She has to," Steve insisted.

"You better do it." Bucky decided. "I can't see her taking much of a liking to me."

Steve nodded, a bit slow.  "Okay, I will."

"Tell me how it goes." Bucky said, starting for the door. "Come on, let's go see if Barton's come down."

Steve hesitated for a moment, almost like he wanted to stay and watch over Tony as he slept.  He followed after Bucky when the elevator doors slid open though, stepping inside, his gaze cast downward, his hands curling into lose fists, jaw setting in quiet determination.

* * *

 

“—exactly what do you _mean_ by exhausted himself?” Pepper’s frown was full and red, lips pursed even through the screen that was on the glass panoramic wall of the conference room.  “Tony lives in sleep deprivation.  This isn’t exactly new.”

"I'm sure it's not, but this was different." Steve told her, standing steady in front of the glass, brows pulled down. "He was trying to pick a fight with Barton. Which, considering everything, would probably have ended badly."

Pepper let out a soft sigh, the neat lines of her white suit shifting as she leaned onto one elbow, pressing her forehead into one hand.  “Oh.  _That_ kind of exhausted.”

"Yeah.  That kind.  Over forty-eight hours, according to FRIDAY."  Steve told her, pausing for a long moment.  "What do you know about Obadiah Stane?"

Pepper went very still and very quiet.  Sitting up in her desk chair, she cleared her throat and folded her hands in front of herself.

“What exactly does Obadiah have to do with it?”

"Well, he told Bucky about him the other day. And then this happened.  So we aren't sure if there's something we're missing." Steve said.  "All I know is that he tried to kill him a few times."

“You shouldn’t even be aware of that,” Pepper replied, her brows furrowing.  “Tony told you this?  Or… told Mr. Barnes this?”

"Yeah.  He did."  Steve told her.  "Just… decided to, I guess."

“Just decided to,” she muttered, peering at him for a moment before she wet her lips and leaned forward, arms resting on the black lacquered desk.  “I guess that does sound like him.  Won’t open up to a trained professional, to his friends, to—“ she took a steadying breath.  “What _exactly_ do you think you know, Steve?”

"I think something went down with them, and someone's covered it all up." Steve said, lines creasing around his mouth as he scowled.  "And I think that weighs on him."

Faltering, Pepper frowned.  She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, lips pursing.  There was something of a challenge in her eyes as they narrowed, though she did not voice whatever it was that was lingering on her tongue.

She glanced up, as if looking over her monitor at something, before holding up a finger and pushing to her feet.  Steve waited as she walked off screen, the lights of her office dimming significantly, and there was the sound of something clicking and ringing for a moment.  Then she was back in her seat, smoothing her suit jacket down.

“If this line was not secure we would not be having this conversation, Captain Rogers.”  Pepper replied, tone as severe as her expression.  “I trust that you’re alone?  And that you won’t be speaking of this to anyone else?”

Her tone told Steve he hadn't been far from the mark, head tilting a little as he regarded her.  Miss Potts was a noble woman, proud, protective. Steve could respect that, but something about her tone set him ill at ease. 

"I'm alone.  And I've got no intention of spreading this around.  You should know me better than that."

“Should I?” Pepper raised a single, well-shaped brow.  “I suppose you’re right.  From what I understand, you’re very good at keeping secrets.  The only question is if you’re good at keeping _Tony’s_ secrets.”

Steve flinched a little.  "I can if it’s for a good reason."

“Obadiah Stane was, at one point, Tony’s business partner, mentor, and godfather.”  Pepper said.  “In 2008, during a weapons demonstration, Tony was attacked by a terrorist group and kidnapped.  It was organized and arranged by Obadiah—though, his intent was Tony’s death.  Not his capture.”

Steve nodded slowly.  "But it didn't work.  So he came for Tony himself.  That doesn't explain why half of that's left out of his file.  It mentions the kidnapping, and the reactor, but nothing about Stane's involvement.  Who’s covering it up?"

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Pepper breathed.  “But that’s the gist.  And the cover-up was SHIELD’s doing.  At the time, they wanted to keep the entire thing private.  Iron Man private.  That included the origins.  There were also concerns from a few of the… partners about what would happen to Stark Industries if Obadiah’s fall became public.  So it turned into a disappearance.”

Steve blew out a sound. "So.  What you're telling me is that this guy tried to murder him a couple times and nobody but a handful of people know about it?  That must be really great for Stark."

“He’s certainly never complained.”  Pepper replied, chin tilting up a bit.  “Though, Tony has never been one to complain about much of anything unless it means absolutely nothing.”

"Yeah, and I'm sure the sleepless nights and anxiety are just unrelated." Steve retorted, expression set firm.

Pepper’s gaze turned shrewd.  “The last time you were anywhere near Tony, you both nearly tore each other apart.  So you’ll have to forgive me for being a little dubious about the sudden concern.”

"He came for Bucky.  What'd you expect?"  Steve held his hands out. "He forced me to make a decision, and I did.  I won't apologize for that."

"No, you're right." Pepper conceded.  "The situation was messy at best.  But you do not get to pick and choose when you care about him, Captain Rogers."

"If we want this to work, then we need to get Tony out of his self-imposed exile.  Puts everyone on edge."  Steve told her. "It's hard to make amends when he's not around."

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "To make amends?"

"I'd like to." Steve told her.  "I didn't want things to go the way they did.  But there's no point in arguing about what happened.  We've got bigger things to deal with."

"That we do," Pepper breathed.  "What else did you want to know?"

"I think that's all I need." Steve said. "I just wanted to understand why his file says one thing while there was obviously something else going on.  I just want to make sure Tony is okay.”

Pepper lifted a prim brow.  "You do? Or your friend does?"

"Both of us do." Steve said evenly.

"Good." Pepper said.  "Don't leave him beaten and broken, this time."

Steve swallowed once and gave a slow nod.  “I won’t.”

“Good,” she repeated, tone terse with dismissal.  “Thank you for updating me.  It was nice taking to you, Captain."

* * *

 

The first thing Tony did upon waking, the lines from his sheets pressed into his skin, was roll out of bed and pad over to his bathroom so that he could brush his teeth.  He didn’t bother with his hair, head swimming each time he moved too fast or too slow or at all.  It hung in a mess of waves atop his head, though he didn’t linger long by the mirror to examine the mess any further.  He didn’t have the stomach for it.

When he was done, he made his way back out into his bedroom, rubbing a slow hand over the back of his scalp.  Blowing out one long breath, he paused to survey the damage.  When his stomach clenchtwisted uncomfortably, he moved on.  His bones ached as he walked out into the main suite, and there was a painful heat in his chest and burning at the back of his throat. 

The rest of his apartment did not look much better.  He’d managed to make quite the mess—though, he was happy to see that nothing had been broken. 

Without pause, Tony headed over to his private bar, rounding it and crouching down to open up the mini-fridge beneath the counter.  He pulled out the half carton of eggs, a half-gallon of orange juice, and the club soda off of the bottom shelf.  Setting them down, he turned to the glass shelves that lined the wall, plucking up an unopened Metaxa bottle before reaching for the shaker. 

Behind him, the elevator doors opened.

“FRIDAY?”

“I notified both Mr. Barnes and Captain Rogers the moment you woke up, sir.”  FRIDAY replied. 

“Really starting to rethink your programming,” Tony muttered, his temples throbbing. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“No you’re not,” he sighed and turned back around, arms loaded with two oranges and more than enough liquor.  “Morning.  Or is it afternoon?”

"Afternoon, technically. Closer to evening." Steve informed him.

Steve and Bucky's expression fell in near perfect tandem when they saw Tony with a full bottle of spirits.

Bucky shot him a look, brows raising. "What's with the stuff?"

“Kutyaharapást szőrével,” Tony set his items down, grabbing a paring knife from where it was magnetized under the lip between bar and counter, cutting into the orange and opening it up red. 

Bucky snorted out a sound of discontent, muttering under his breath.  "Doesn't actually work that well."

Steve glanced over at him, and for his benefit Bucky translated.

"Hair of the dog.  Means hair of the dog."

“To cure the bite, and all that.” Tony added, pulling a bowl close and cracking an egg open, deftly separating the yoke as the white drizzled down into the small glass bowl. 

Steve moved up to the counter, forearms resting on the upper surface, Bucky not far behind. "Or maybe you could just let it heal on its own?"

"Because I'm not shoving your drunk ass in a shower again." Bucky added, tone boding no room for argument.

Tony hummed softly; noncommittally.  He plucked up the bowl, tipping the white into the shaker before pouring juice in on top of it.  Then he reached for the Metaxa.

“Well, I’m alive and my nose isn’t broken.”  Tony shrugged.  “Not actually the worst time I’ve ever had.”

Opening the bottle, he poured twice as much liquor in on top of the odd mixture already in the shaker.  Capping it, he started shaking, back and forth, casual as can be. 

"You drink that shit and a broken nose is gonna be the least of your worries." Bucky said.

Beside him, Steve made no effort to protest the threat, leaning in a little.

Tony’s laugh was short and sharp.  “That’s cute, actually.”

He set the shaker down after another second, opening it and stepping aside so that he could reach beneath the counter again.  Pulling out a small, slim bottle, he dribbled in something red-brown and cinnamon scented into the mix.  After he put that away, he added ice, and capped the shaker again.  He spun it between his hands before knocking it back and forth.

“Still a bit unclear as to this new routine you both have decided to habituate into,” Tony said, even as Steve seemed to shift and sigh, eyes darting from Tony’s face, to his hands, and back again.  “But it’s much less amusing now that I’m sober.”

"Good thing we aren't here to entertain you." Steve said flatly, neither of them making a move away from the countertop.

Bucky eyed Tony for a second before he looked to Steve. "Say, we don't have anything going on do we?"

Steve glanced at him, brows going up, the faintest smile ghosting over his mouth.  "Not that I can think of."

A grin curled Bucky's lips, although there was something off about it.  "Perfect.  Means we can stay here."

“I don’t believe I offered an invitation.”

"You didn't."  Steve said, offering him a smile before they both pulled away from the counter.

They settled on Tony's couch without much fuss, watching him with passing interest as he moved around the bar.  Tony muttered a soft curse, rolling his eyes as he pulled a long, tall glass toward himself.

He poured out the odd mix into the glass over some ice, then topped it off with club soda.  Sipping it, he let out some sound that might’ve been a hiss or a hum.  Pointing to the top shelves, he lifted a brow.

“You two want anything?”

"Already ate."  Bucky told him, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

Steve eyed the glass in Tony's hand dubiously, expression pinching.  "I think I'll pass."

With a shrug, Tony took another drink, rounding the bar and padding over to the small table by the windows.  “FRIDAY, order me a pizza.  Chicago style.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

Silence fell over them for a moment, and if it was awkward neither Steve nor Bucky gave any indication that they minded.

"How's your head?" Bucky asked.

Sitting down at the table, Tony heaved out a sigh and made another vague motion, though he had to steady himself slightly.  “Like I said, I’ve had worse.”

Bucky grunted a little. "That's not what I asked. But okay."

“It’s fine,” Tony snapped, taking another drink.  “Are you two lingering like a bad smell for a reason, or…?”

"We're old people.  We smell bad and we hang around when you don't want us to."  Bucky retorted without pause.

"It's how it works.  Get used to it."  Steve finished.

Crossing one leg over the other, Tony leaned back in his seat with a sigh.  He looked out the window, at the sky growing slowly darker and darker, and nursed his drink. 

It burned on the way down—the cinnamon biting where the orange juice stung—thick and heady as he swallowed.  The ache in his body was still present, a constant throbbing under his skin.  He closed his eyes for a moment, letting them rest as his head swam uncomfortably.  He took another long pull from the glass, hoping it might ease some of the pains.

"Dog still biting?"  Bucky asked, a little louder than strictly necessary, something like a smile on his face.

Tony set the drink down harsh on the glass top table.  “What the hell are you two doing here?  Exactly?  I’m alive, obviously, if that was what you were concerned about.  And while I have the hangover the size of the Deathstar, I really don’t think it requires adult supervision.”

"Last time I checked, collapsing in the shower because your legs give out kind of means you need supervision."  Steve replied, tone even, though there was an edge to his expression.

“My legs are fully functioning,” Tony made a point of stand, making one slow turn about, as if to demonstrate.  “They can even help me walk you to the elevator.”

"Yeah.  They work _now_."  Bucky said bluntly. "So we're gonna sit here until you stop being an idiot and let someone help for a change."

“You—“ Tony laughed, hand on his stomach, dark eyes burning.  “You’re here to help?  With _what_?  Gonna watch me while I pop a few pain killers and catch up on Last Week Tonight to make sure my knees don’t buckle under the stress of sitting on the couch?”

They shrugged in tandem.

"If that's what it takes." Bucky said.

Tony’s expression shuttered.  “Get out.  This isn’t a public venue, this isn’t the gym, this isn’t even my _lab_.  I kind of get why _you’re_ here, Long John Silver, considering we’ve got this quasi quid pro quo thing going for us—but I’m not going to sit here and braid hair with you.  And I have _no_ idea what changed recently enough for _you_ to come up, all disappointed and concerned, Captain Sparkles.  You weren’t invited, and frankly, I don’t want you here.”

Bucky looked like he was going to argue, shoulders setting in place until Steve nudged at his thigh, jerking his head.  He got to his feet, gesturing for Bucky to follow, expression drawn between something like regret and disappointment.  

Hesitating, Bucky cast one long look toward Tony before shoving to his feet as well.  They walked toward the elevator together in the quiet.  Tony took another drink.

Pausing before the sleek metal doors, Bucky turned to look his way, brows drawn down and lips thin.  "You know, if you spent half the time you do pushing people away on letting someone help, you wouldn't have to fail to pick up your own pieces alone all the time."

"What's your game?" Tony took a jerky step forward, all agitated lines and frustration, a bitter dubiousness on his face. "What _is_ this?  What are you doing?  Why are you doing it? What the _fuck_ are you going to gain by pretending to--"

"Pretending?"  Bucky snapped, taking a step back toward him and stopping when Steve caught his elbow. "You dumb son of a bitch.  You honestly think we're doing this to fuck you over?"

"I don't know!" Tony tossed his hands out.  "But I certainly can't piece together why you _wouldn't_ be."  
  
_Because why wouldn't you?_ went unsaid, though his gaze held accusation. _Because everyone else does. Because you have before._

Steve's expression crumbled.  His brows drew together, his jaw tightened.  He almost looked pained.  

Beside him, Bucky faltered, resolve flagging. "God, you really are stupid.  We aren't playing some kind of long game here.  Neither of us have the energy for that kinda shit."

"Just tell me what you _want_ ," Tony insisted.  "What do you want?  You want me to play ball, be the good team member?  Do you want me out of the way--because I've been trying to be the silent benefactor; I can play that role.  Just tell me what it is so you can stop pretending.  So you can just _stop_. What do you _want_?"

"It's not about what we want." Steve told him, voice steady despite the weight pulling his shoulders into a low arc, and Tony’s gaze flitted desperately to his. "We just don't want to see you self-destruct.  Even after everything." 

" _Why_ not?  _Especially_ after everything."

"Because you're trying,” Steve said.  “To fix things.  So maybe I’m trying too.  It’s not that hard to understand.”

"Understand?" Tony shook his head, hand coming up to it.  "I don't _understand_ any of this.  Mostly I've been trying to ignore it. I've admitted my mistakes, I've made my peace with you and stayed out of the way, I'm even--"  
  
With a sigh, Tony closed his eyes again.  
  
"I don't understand _any_ of this."

Bucky breathed out a sigh. "You can't spend your life with your head in a lab.  And before you try and argue, I'm telling you, you _can't_."

“My _life_ is in those labs.”

"Yeah, I've noticed." Bucky replied. "But you can't stay down there forever."

Tony’s eyes darted between, a grimace on his lips.  "Can we get back to the whole--" he gestured between all three of them, "--thing?  Whatever this is supposed to be?  Are you doing this because you're trying to tell me you _care_?"

"We’ve all made mistakes, Tony.” Steve said, arms coming to fold over his chest, shuffling forward a bit.

Tony stared at him, brows together, jaw tight.

“We don’t want to see you suffering, Tony.” Bucky said.

Tony frowned, turning his face slightly away, looking more vulnerable standing there alone in front of the vast city scape than either of them had probably ever seen.  The light shown in from behind him, catching him at all angles, the lonely set of his frame all the more desolate in contrast to the world at his back.  He looked small.  Tony shifted, uneasy, and stepped away.

Twisting around, Tony padded back over to the table and braced his hands flat on the surface.  He took a breath, wincing as his chest ached, and rubbed over his sternum.  Head still swimming from his hangover, he paused and took another long drink.

"Thanks, then." He said, voice rough.  "For looking out for me, or whatever you want to call it."

"You're welcome." Steve replied, a little quieter as he nudged at Bucky's shoulder to get him to follow on.

Overstaying their welcome more than they already had would probably only end up making things worse.  Bucky moved with reluctance, eyes straying over Tony one last time before making for the elevator without another word. 


	9. Chapter 8: Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper arrives. Bucky sneaks out.

There was only so much a tower of outcasts could do for entertainment before the cabin fever began to set in.  Days seeped by slow; Bucky was beginning to feel himself growing increasingly discontented within the walls of the Tower.  His skin crawled at the idea of another day locked up inside without much hope of a way out.  The routine he'd developed did something to quiet his mind—coffee with Steve in the morning, walking the boundaries of the building, visiting Tony— but with Tony back to burying in his own shell, the edge of boredom was sharp at his back. 

It was a Thursday when he finally cracked.  Steve had gone to help train Scott with Natasha.  The lab had been otherwise vacated, implying Tony was off working on something far more important than the new suit he’d been tinkering with and far too boring for Bucky to bother with trying to track him down and weasel his way back into Tony’s good graces.  Sam was off god knows where talking to god knows who.  Even FRIDAY had been quiet.

Bucky's fingers stilled where they'd been tapping on the cover of an unopened book, sat poised on the edge of the plush leather couch in the living area of Steve and his suite for a breath before he pushed to his feet.  A single hair tie, a glove he'd salvaged from his old things and a jacket later, Bucky was headed out the door and into the elevator. 

He knew the Tower well enough to know the lower carpark gate was unguarded save for FRIDAY.  He’d spent the last month exploring every accessible level, mapping out the floors, the exits, and the people.  He knew the gate was well within vaulting height.  He knew that if he timed it right, the camera on rotation outside wouldn't catch him. 

His escape was halted when he reached the gate that would eventually lead him out, the afternoon sun peeking in from under concrete structure.  He gave a soft sigh, and in the kindest voice he could muster spoke towards the ceiling.

"FRIDAY? Don't suppose you could do a guy a favor?"

There was a long pause before he received a response.  "What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky smiled up at the ceiling, although he wasn't sure if FRIDAY could see.  He hoped so.  "I just gotta go out for a couple hours.  Nothing bad, I promise.  I just need to get out.  Could you maybe not tell Tony?  He doesn't need to worry about me ducking out for a bit."

"It would be against my protocol not to warn Mr. Stark about your departure."

"I know.  But that's why it's a favor, right?”

There was another long stretch of silence.

“Look, I'm just going out for a couple hours.  No one's gonna miss me.  I just wanna go see the city." Bucky said, brows drawing up and together.

There was something a lot like hesitation.  "Mr. Stark is otherwise occupied, and he did ask me not to disturb him.  He doesn't need to know you left."

Bucky grinned.  "Thanks, FRIDAY.  I owe you one."

"Of course, Mr. Barnes."

New York was nothing like he remembered it.  Louder and brighter and bustling with more people than he'd been expecting.  Yet there were still so many things that had remained the same—the people, mostly—and something like recognition twinged at the back of his mind as he walked the streets and it folded over him with a strange kind of warmth.  The bustle of people didn't bother him, slipping into the crowd and blending as best he could.  One face in many didn't tend to attract much attention.

Bucky had only travelled a block from the tower when he realized he hadn't planned past getting out.  He slowed a little, letting the flow around him guide his way for a short while until he found himself looking over familiar green.

Central Park had gotten an upgrade since he’d last seen it, and briefly, Bucky wondered where the sheep had gone.

Before long, he found himself wandering along in the singular patch of green within the city, the feeling of the sun against his face a balm to sooth the itch that had been burning under his skin.  He wasn’t sure how far he’d gone, but when he looked back, the tower was partially hidden by other buildings.  It didn’t bother him nearly as much as it could have.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke Bucky from his thoughts, and for a moment he tensed, head snapped towards the sound only to find a woman running on one side of the path, a very excited looking border collie by her side.  Bucky’s lips twitched up, watching as they passed, the tight lines across his shoulders dissipating.

As the day grew late, more people seemed to stir, traveling in pairs, and small groups. They seemed to have purpose to the way they moved. After a second’s hesitation, he moved on.  He could be back before it got dark. No one had to know about his little excursion. He had time.

* * *

 

He walked for what might have been hours, but felt like minutes, lingering by street signs and placards and intersections, letting what little memory he had left guide him around.  He might have been walking in circles.  The people around him didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, a fact that brought Bucky great comfort as he traveled, moving with the crowd, rather than against it for once. 

The buildings had begun to cast long, impossible shadows over the sidewalk.  The street began to cool.  Hands tucked into his pockets, he padded idle along the sidewalk.  He had turned back to head toward the Tower some time ago, but it was taking longer than expected. 

The street he was on had grown quiet in the late afternoon.  It was the only reason he even caught the sound of scuffling feet and muffled voices.  He cast a sidelong glance toward the source of the noise, catching the last glimpses of dark hair and a scrap of fabric disappear into the mouth of a side alley.  Something cold trickled down his spine, and before Bucky could put thought into what he was doing, he was halfway across the road, the voices louder now, two distinct strains staining the air, one muffled; the other hissing.

The cold of base instinct gave way to the sharp heat of reaction when he saw two men backing someone else up against the brick wall lining the alleyway.  Something hard in him told him to run while he could.  Go before they saw him.  Before he caused a scene.  It faded with every step he took toward them. 

One of the men, the taller of the pair, saw him coming and rounded to face the interloper.  Bucky kept moving regardless.  "This isn't your business, man.  Keep moving."

Bucky said nothing as he peered over to where the dark haired woman backed up against the wall, shaking fingers passing over a silvery wallet.  “Seems to be some kind of business to me.  How about you move on to someone else, huh?"

The shorter of the two grunted.  “How about we move on to you?”

Bucky advanced on them again, making no motion to stop even when they tensed.  The taller one, pale and sneering, made to reach into his jacket when a gloved hand shot out to grab at his wrist.  There was a muffled crunch, and a wet twisting sound as the taller man gave a half muffled shout, cradling his forearm close to his body, wrist twisted at an odd angle when Bucky let go.

His companion looked between Bucky and the taller man; shocked, then angry.  Then he moved.  The girl by the wall didn't move, frozen, brows up and lips parted as she pressed back firm against the bricks.  There was the glint of a blade and the sound of fabric tearing.  She watched, with unshaken terror, as the man who had just been relieving her of her belongings was dispatched with fearsome precision, left crumpled against the tarmac, lip split, the knife he had been holding clattering to the pavement.

"People these days." Bucky mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else as he bent to pick up what had been taken, eyeing the sniveling pair as he held out the delicate belongings to her.  "Here.”

She stared at him, completely still aside from the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Bucky’s expression softened.  “Hey, easy.  It's okay.  Just, uh… Just take a deep breath.”

She sucked in one short, sharp breath and held it.  Then she released it in one big gust, shoulders slumping, leaning back heavy against the brick.

“That’s it,” Bucky nodded, voice low and slow, hands out.  “Can you tell me your name?”

She only stared at him some more, blinking a few times before she found her footing.  She pushed off of the wall, trembling, and took her wallet back with tentative fingers.  Her eyes didn’t leave his for a long second before they finally dropped to her wallet, cracking it open and checking over the contents with sharp, almost robotic movements.  

"Martina.” She finally said, to her open wallet and driver’s license.  “My name's Martina.  You--? How'd you know I was here?  I didn't-- They didn't--I didn't shout."

Bucky shrugged a little, still eyeing the man with the broken wrist as he knelt over his companion.  "Saw something out of the corner of my eye.  Got lucky, I guess."

Martina nodded stiffly, but Bucky had the feeling she didn't really comprehend what it was he was saying.  Slowly he edged a little closer to her, taking her elbow with gentle fingers before carefully ushering her towards the mouth of the alleyway.

"Miss?”

Her gaze strayed to the couple that passed by on the sidewalk.  Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that they were looking at them.  That they were looking at  _him._   He pushed the suspicion aside for a moment, body turning more fully toward Martina.

"You got people to go to?"

She nodded once, short and quick, swallowing a little as her eyes finally drifted over him; they looked glassy.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I was meeting friends after work.  They're just up the street."

"Okay.  Okay, that's good." Bucky said, even and calm. "You want me to walk with you ‘til you find them?"

Martina hesitated for a second, then glanced back at the people in the alley from over her shoulder.  "Yeah.  Can you?"

"Don't worry about them.  They'll be okay.  Nothing a short stint in the ER won't fix."  Bucky told her, and gestured for her to lead the way, falling into step next to her as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Something stiffened in her posture as her gaze strayed over him once more.  Then she looked sharply forward, jaw clenching.  A gust of wind blew, and Bucky felt it run across the plates of his arm.  He looked down only to find the sleeve of his shirt cut clean through, a gaping hole left open just above his elbow.  Even in the dimming light, the metal was unmistakable.

His heart beat so hard he nearly felt breathless with it.  He did not miss the way a woman, out for a smoke break from the bar next to the alley, had frozen with her cigarette halfway to her mouth, ash burning as she stared.  It was not the only set of eyes on him.

The desire to run welled up in him.  At his side, Martina swayed a bit, stumbling until Bucky steadied her with his gloved hand.  She looked down at it, then back up at him, and offered a wavering smile.  He huffed out a tight sigh.

"You're probably in shock, okay?  It's kinda shitty, and you're gonna feel numb for a while.  You're probably gonna want to talk to someone about it.  Maybe a doctor.  Maybe the cops."

He was mostly rambling to fill the silence, to stop his own mind from running on.  On the street corner down the block, right outside of a small bistro, there was a gaggle of people, all around Martina's age; they waved when they saw her.  A tall, lanky blonde frowned as he caught sight of Bucky, eyes flickering over him, brows drawing together.  Bucky watched from across the street as he elbowed the man next to him.

Bucky stopped.  “Are they your friends?"

She nodded, pausing just a few paces ahead of him.  "Thanks— Thank you.  For noticing, for helping...  You uh…” her nose wrinkled.  “I think he got you."

Bucky offered her a grim smile, but didn't look at the hole she was gesturing to.  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

He watched her worry her lower lip between her teeth, watched her take a stilted step back toward him, but her friends were jogging across the road to get to her; one of them nearly got pegged by a taxi.  “You’re—I mean, you’re him, right?  You’re James Barnes?”

Bucky’s jaw screwed tight.  He started to back away.  “Don’t forget to see a doctor.  For the shock, remember?”

He saw her nod in agreement out of the corner of his eye as he turned to go, just as one of her friends caught her by the elbow.  He paced away, faster than he had been walking before, hand moving to cover up the hole in his jacket.  His mind was racing as he fled; though he managed to stop himself from running.  It would only attract more attention, if that were somehow possible.

The sound of sirens made something cold settle heavy and solid in his gut.  He hoped to see a firetruck or an ambulance when he glanced down the street, but the sleek black SUV peeling around a corner left his throat going tight.  There was only a second of hesitation as Bucky looked towards the skyline.  The Tower was hidden from view.  If he got lucky, if he started running now, maybe he'd make it before they could reach him. 

He stalled nearly as quickly as he'd set off, the wail of approaching authority creeping closer.  If he went back, they’d know Tony had allowed them to stay.  Steve would go back to the floating prison Wanda had told him about.  They all would. 

Bucky closed his eyes as he heard the screech of tires on tarmac, the slam of doors, the heavy footfalls.  He breathed out long and slow, and open his eyes.  There were three police cars stopped around him, bracketing him in against the side of a building.  One had even rolled up onto the sidewalk to cut him off at the pass.  The large, black, unmarked Cadillac slid to a stop in the street.  He heard the telltale _clickslide_ of a handgun being engaged, glancing back to find two officers, woefully unprepared for his capture, holding standard issue pistols at chest height.

Bucky's hands came to raise to eye level, non-threatening as a deep kind of resignation washed over him.  Maybe if he went down easy, they wouldn't ask too many questions.  Slowly, he lowered himself down onto his knees.

Stepping out of the passenger side of the SUV, a woman engaged her ear piece.  "Sir.  We have him."

* * *

 

Hands wrapped around the high bar, Tony lifted and fell in steady reps.  He breathed out heavy, sweat trickling down his temple as the count tallied in front of the slim screen in front of his left eye, the other watching as Dumm-E swept up a mess of metal shavings from the center of the workshop.  

In front of him, a new suit's bare bones hung in a sleek titanium alloy.  It was a skeleton of a thing, close in model of the Gemini Mark XXXIX's, though meant for more prolonged flights in suborbital space--and far more durable.  It hung in silver, though Tony was still not sure whether or not he would keep it that way.

Dumm-E whirred softly, dropping its broom, as FRIDAY announced a visitor.  "Ms. Potts has just arrived, sir."

Tony stilled, hanging between one rep and another.  "Pardon?"

"Pepper Potts has just arrived and is on her way to your labs, Mr. Stark."

Dumm-E buzzed, shifting and lapping around Tony's feet as he dropped to the floor.  "Down, boy."

Dumm-E didn't settle an inch.

The lab doors slid open as Tony was toweling over his face. He removed the head gear, setting it aside on a stainless steel table, gesturing with the other hand, and the floating holo schematics in the corner collapsed in a flash of light.  Pepper's heels clicked on the white tile of the floors as she came in, hair pinned up in a neat twist, deep blue dress contrasting impossibly with the messy sweats and cotton t-shirt Tony had changed into after a long morning of dealing with his newest lawyer.  He scrubbed a hand through his floppy mess of hair, smile thin and meek as he greeted her.

"You don't have any business on the agenda in New York," Tony said. "So I'm assuming FRIDAY called?"

"Steve, actually."

Tony blinked, lips parting.  "Oh."

Her eyes flit down over him, her mouth pursed in a familiar concerned disappointment that Tony would pay all of the money in the world to stop seeing.  "Why didn't you tell me you were doing so badly?" she asked.  
  
"Because--" the _I'm not_ died in his mouth, bitter like sour espresso.  "--I didn't want to bother you.  And I was handling it.  I just had a... a bad day. Or three."

"Tony," she breathed, rounding the work shop to stand in front of him, hands tentative and hovering before they came up to frame his face between them.  "You don't have to do this alone.  Even though we aren't... Even though we _aren't_ , doesn't mean you're alone."

Expression crumbling, Tony sagged forward, and Pepper instantly opened her arms to him, pressing her lips to his forehead.  "I feel alone."

Face twisting up in something a lot like pain, Pepper pressed another kiss to his forehead, to the top of his head--one hand petting down his back, the other coming up to thread into the soft strands of hair at the back of his head.  She held him, and his hands rested gingerly at her hips, face pressed to the hollow of her throat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I'm sorry I couldn't--"

"Hush," she shook her head.  "You know it isn't your fault.  It's no one’s fault.  We just--"

"I know," he muttered, voice strained, pulling back to peer up at her.  "I know, I just... I always thought you were it.  My end game."

"Well," she smiled, brushing his hair put of his face, nose wrinkling slightly.  "Maybe someday.  When we're both impossibly old and gray and ugly--"

Leaning up, Tony pressed one long kiss to her mouth.  She curved her hand along his jaw, their lips slanted evenly, familiarly.  

It did not last long.  It was such a simple, sweet thing.  An easy press of their mouths in a kiss that they had shared a thousand times before, and maybe someday would share again.  Then it was over.

"You can be old and grey, but you will _never_ be ugly, Pepper Potts." Tony told her with a wry earnestness, mouth cocking up in a grin.  "And neither will I, for that matter."

Pepper raised on droll brow.  "You're so sure?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded, leaning into her touch as she cupped his cheek.  "Well, that and I'm working on the formula to immortality."

"Tony," she chided, voice soft and amused.  "We were having a serious conversation."

"Were we?"

" _Tony_."

"Pep, look.  I'm fine."  He stepped back, arms wide.  "Don't I look fine?"

"You look like you've been working too much and not sleeping enough."

Tony frowned.  "That's not very flattering."

"Tony--"  
  
"Forgive the interruption, Ms. Potts." FRIDAY said, voice almost wavering.  "I apologize Mr. Stark, but there seems to be a situation."

"What kind of situation?" he asked as Pepper glanced upward.

FRIDAY's reply was the projection of the CNN news report.  "--we go now to the scene in the lower side of New York City.  Dana Reilly, tell us what's happened."

"Thanks, Anderson." A young brunette greeted where she stood on a streetside.  "Just behind me, you can see the scene where a high profile criminal, wanted the world over, was seized into governmental custody just after two today."

A picture of James Buchanan Barnes was placed on screen.  The line of Tony's shoulders drew tight.

"Shit."

Then his phone rang.

"What do you need me to do?" Pepper asked, eyes still on the screen.

"Get big, bad, and black on the line." Tony ordered, clipped and crisp, already reaching for his phone.  "Get him here.  Tell him our plan has been moved up."

"Done." Pepper said.  "And Tony?"

"Yes, dear?"

"This conversation is far from over."

"Of course, dear."  Tony was already walking away.  “FRIDAY, tell me where Rogers is at.”

* * *

 

After the handful of years that Sam had been Steve's friend, he had come to know the man behind the symbol.  Steve was loyal but hardheaded, kind but sometimes more blind than he knew, and ultimately Sam knew that Steve had always been a good man who tried to do good things.  His heart was in the right place.  It was just that sometimes that place got him into trouble.

He'd grown up in a tough neighborhood and made a name for himself doing what he believed was right.  Much like Sam had, in his own right.  It was what made being his friend so easy-- he understood.  He understood what it was like to grow up with nothing and finally find _something_.  He understood why it was always so hard to let that something go.

Sam saw the broadcast first, from where he was sitting at the table just off the kitchen, more than stuffing the turkey sandwich he'd fried up in his mouth, hungry from a long morning of grappling with an ex-spy; Natasha had upped the regime in physical hand-to-hand after Thor's return and was no longer going easy on them-- as hard as easy had been.  He saw it and paused mid-chew, even as Wanda sucked in a tight breath from where she was tucked up on the couch in the elevated living space they all shared from time to time.  She frequently spent free time watching the news, a way to cope with being stuck inside day after day.

Instantly her gaze sought Sam out.  He gave one quick, curt nod, set his sandwich down, and pushed to his feet.  

Wanda was already half down the stairs in nothing but an elegant mess of robes and a pair of well-worn slippers, heading straight for the elevator.  Close behind, Sam checked his wrist, tapping on the screen to alert Redwing.  

The elevator doors slid open, but Steve was already there, freshly showered.  His eyes immediately drew to the glass screen where the news was still running.  Sam saw the moment he realized and the moment he decided.

Bucky was always that something that Steve just couldn't let go of.

"We need to go," he said.

"What we _need_ is a plan," Sam replied.

Wanda eyed the elevator doors behind him.  "I will go gather the others--"

"No," Steve shook his head.  "No one else needs to get involved.  We can't risk anyone getting hurt."

"You know," Tony's voice came from nowhere, and then he was shoving a door to the stairs open, looking breathless even to Sam, though he covered it well with an easy smile.  "I was just thinking the same thing."

"I thought he was with _you_." Steve said-- accusation in every rigid line of him.

"Your boyfriend does _not_ spend every waking moment he isn't with you in my labs." Tony's smile dropped.  

"How did this happen?" Steve moved to stalk after him, but Sam caught his arm.  "How did you not know he left?  How could you _let_ this happen?"

"That would actually be my fault, Captain." FRIDAY noted, with a sober air of solemnity.  "Mr. Barnes simply.... wanted to go for a walk."

"I'm reprogramming her." Tony huffed.

"Is that all you have to say about this?" Steve expression twisted.

"No, actually."  Tony's jaw worked.  "I'd also like to add that the good Comrade has his own freewill these days.  I didn't force him to sneak out, Captain."

"You're responsible for why he has to sneak around at all.  For why we're all confined to this building in the first place." Steve's voice rose.  

“Bucky was on a Most Wanted list long before the Accords—“

“All you do is make excuses.” Steve snapped.  “Bucky isn’t the one that should be getting taken in right now.  It should be _you_.”

Tony's expression twisted.  "And just a few days ago, you were telling me how much you _cared_.  Glad to know just how far that concern stretches, Rogers.  Remind me not to count on you when the chips are down—at least not when your precious _Bucky_ is involved.”

Sam's fingers tightened around Steve's bicep.  Next to them, the elevator doors slid open and Scott faltered as he stepped in.

"Whoa," he muttered, eyes dating between Tony and Steve.  "Am I interpreting? I'm interrupting."

Steve was silent for a moment, glancing down at the hand Sam had against his arm in futile effort to keep him still.  He didn't jerk his arm out of Sam's hold, although the temptation to was growing.  "This isn’t—I didn’t mean that—I just _have_ to _go_.”

"If you go, Secretary Ross will be waiting for you." Tony said.  "That's who has him.  Right this moment.  _That's_ who has Barnes--delaying expedition, keeping him in a cell, no psyche eval this time.  And he knows you'll be coming for him."

"I can't  _leave_  him there." Steve told him, previous anger giving way to something desperate. "I can handle Ross.  I'm not letting him rot in a cell for nothing."

“He _won't_." Tony assured, taking a step closer, hands out like supplication or perhaps a plead.  "He won't.  If, for just once in your god damn life you wait before going in fists flying, I can get him _out_."

There was a long pause. 

"I don’t want him there anymore than you do.  I can bring him back to you, Steve." Tony said, something hard in his tone.  "Just... Just _trust_ me.  Please."

Steve loomed Tony over; scrutinizing. As if he could somehow uncover Tony’s intentions from the way he stood.  From the way he begged.  Some of the tension dissipated from his shoulders, and Sam's hand fell away from his arm.

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"Well," Tony shifted, expression shrugging.  "First I need to get some tech in some very shady places by even shadier means."

"What?" Sam frowned, arms crossing over his chest, eyeing Steve where he stood at his side.  "Like break and entering?"

"Something like that," Tony nodded.  "Just, without the breaking."

Scott raised his hand. "Um.  I think I could help with that."

Steve turned to Scott. "Done this before?"

Scott shrugged a shoulder.  "Let's just say I know some people."


	10. Chapter 9: Devil in Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1

As far as prison cells went, this wasn't the worst Bucky had been thrown in.  Heavy steel clamped tight over his shoulders and legs, keeping him immobile within the cube of reinforced glass and metal. He didn't try to struggle against the restraints, almost sedate in the way he sat.  His willingness did nothing to temper the guards that lingered outside of the chamber as they completed rotations in fifteen minute intervals.

The cell was near identical to the one Bucky had been kept in when he'd been captured in Vienna.  He had to wonder how many of these things Ross and his people had lying around.  Smooth walls broken only by a sealed door and a single viewing window separated him from the remainder of the facility.

From behind the silver glazed glass set into the wall, Bucky could feel someone watching him, eyes locked onto the glass, as if he might get a look in if he stared hard enough.  Bucky supposed it would only be a matter of time before someone came in to question him, but as the hours ticked by, something like worry seeped into his bones.  He hoped Steve would have the sense to just leave him be this once.  It would be better for all of them.

There was a soft hiss from beyond the door, then the heavy _clickthunk_ of the locks unsealing, and the muffled sound of boots against the floor filled the room as two guards filed in.  Thaddeus Ross paced in behind them, head held high, a tight but smug smile on his face.

From behind Ross, Tony Stark stepped out.  Bucky blinked at him, brows furrowing in as something like fear uncurled within him; dark and cold.

"Oh, so he _is_ alive." Tony said, hands behind his back, shark smile sharp and eyes like glass.

Ross huffed out a short sound as Tony padded over to the perimeter.  "We _did_ want him alive."

"Did you?" Tony glanced back at him.  "I thought there was a shoot on sight rule."

Bucky watched them both from within his cell, expression pinching.  For a brief moment, he wondered if this had all been some kind of elaborate long game.  There was something strange about the way Tony walked, and talked, as if he'd been there before.

Perhaps escaping had been too easy. 

"Public executions look bad in the press." Bucky said, something slow in his words.

Tony looked back to him with that smile of his, rocking up on his toes.  "If I'd had it my way, you would already be cold and six feet under."

Behind him, Ross' chin tilted up. Like he was proud. Or perhaps triumphant.

Then Tony winked.  "So where exactly have you and Rogers been hiding? Fancy new tech--you don't look malnourished.  Being a murderer on the run is treating you nicely."

Bucky's eyes narrowed.  Then Tony raised one slow brow; silent and expecting.

"For a genius, you aren't real good at tracking people." Bucky shot back, sharp and biting, though the furrow of his brow remained.

"Or you're just good at hiding," Tony sneered.

"Try not to rile the prisoner, Stark." Ross cut in, hands tucked into his pockets.  "We'd prefer he not hurt himself."

Tony looked to him again.  "We?"

"The Task Force."

"Right, yeah." Tony hummed, pensive as his gaze fell to Bucky again.  "So what's your plan?"

"Take him to trial for crimes committed." Ross replied, though he spoke with a rehearsed cadence.  "Gas him when he's convicted."

Tony's mouth twitched; something like doubt in his eyes.  "Gonna kill him, huh?"

"I'm going to do what you couldn't, yes."

For one second, Tony went very still. Then he laughed.

"All of this hassle just to make an example?"

"It's necessary," Ross assured, standing a bit straighter.

"And he went so easy too," Tony cocked his head, shoving his hands into his pockets.  "You did, didn't you? Go easy? Why is that, Barnes?"

Bucky didn't make a move in his cell, but something about him tensed, fingers digging in where there were held against the chairs arms, metal plates clicking.  It was one thing to imagine death, another entirely to look at the man who would likely pay your executioner. 

Bucky looked at Tony for a second, almost vulnerable.  Earnest at the very least.  "Was a crowd.  Didn't want to make a scene."

"I'm sure Rogers misses you," Tony's tone mocked, though he gave a small nod.  "Bet there's even another rescue being plotted as we speak.  He's pretty good at jail breaking these days."

"Captain Rogers will find it very... difficult, to come to his friend's aid." Ross said. "Of that, I assure you."

Bucky swallowed thickly, something wavering in his expression, before his jaw set as firm as the line of his shoulders.  He looked up at Ross, the restraints around his arms whining just slightly as he tested them.  

"You leave him out of this."

"He had made his own decisions," Ross said.

"He picked you over me," Tony added with an appropriate amount of venom.

"You gave him no choice." Bucky retorted, more genuine than was strictly necessary, pressed up tight against the restraints over his shoulders.

"I gave him a choice." Tony's voice lowered dangerously.  "He chose _wrong_."

The bars wrapped around Bucky's body rattled as he made a lurch forward, lips pulled into a snarl.  There was a pitch as the bar across his left arm started to give ever so slightly. The metal dug into him, painful, but not nearly enough to make him stop.  At least he knew he could bust out if he had to. 

Tony's gaze darted quickly about his restraints, as though he was cataloguing them.  Hands in his pockets, he stepped that much closer, ducking his head slightly to peer at Bucky through the glass.

"Steve Rogers is as much of a criminal as you are," Tony said.  "And wherever he is, he'll get what's coming to him."

As much as Bucky knew that Steve was safe, that Tony had gone out of his way to keep up this ruse but something about the way Tony spoke set something burning in Bucky's chest. The bolts holding the hinge of the bars closed groaned out a sound, hexagonal head slowly sheering as Bucky lurched against the bars.  Part of it was only for show, but from over Tony's shoulder, he could see Ross looking on, utter contempt twisting his face. 

From above them, there was a sharp click, followed by the strong thrum of electricity coursing over the metal of the cell, a violent kind of light arcing through Bucky's chest.  A hollow scream echoed through the chamber, drawn out until the shock stopped.

Tony stumbled back from the cubicle cell holding him, eyes widening briefly.  He watched as Bucky seized before going very still and very limp.  

Swallowing thick, he looked to Ross, who eyed him with a narrowed, knowing gaze.  "Electrical shock? Really? How many volts is that?"

"Enough." Ross replied.  "Do you have a problem with it? I thought you wanted him to suffer."

"I want him dead," Tony replied.  "Not tortured."

Ross tilted his head.  "You're too soft for this kind of business."

"Cruel and unusual punishment?"

"If you have a problem, you can always leave.”

Teeth baring, Tony twisted to face him.  "I want a moment with him. Alone."

“Why?”

Stepping back toward him, Tony placed a companionable hand on Ross’ shoulder.  “Consider it a need for closure.”

Ross stared down at him for a long minute.  "Ten minutes," he said, already moving toward the door.

* * *

 

The transition between Tony's hand and the Secretary of State's shoulder was one of the most terrifying moments of his life. It was impossibly quick, and he'd had to cling to the fibers between pinstripes in order to stay on Ross at all.

It was only after the doors shut behind them and Ross moved over to the monitors that Scott risked moving from his precarious perch.  He slid down over the expensive material, blowing out a tight breath as he stopped sharp at the bottom hem.  Only after he was in Ross' coat pocket did he reach for his comms. 

"The package has been delivered," he said in a whisper.

" _What_?"

Heaving out a sigh, Scott drooped a little.  "I'm in his pocket. Come on, Luis."

" _Sorry, sorry. Right. You're in_."

" _I thought it was very smooth_ ," a heavily accented voice cut in.

" _Thank_ you, Kurt." Scott said.

" _Is his cell phone there_?"

Scott peered up at the Blackberry. "Uh. Yeah."

" _Okay, okay, awesome_." Luis replied, and over the radio, Scott could hear his grin.  " _Man, I can't believe we're gonna bug the Secretary of State."_

"Well," Scott moved toward it carefully.  "Believe it.  We've got ten minutes."

" _Right. Shit, yeah, ten minutes_." Luis muttered.  " _Let's get this done_."

It was simple really. Placing the bug was the easiest part, and it didn't take long.  It was hacking through Ross' phone that took a little extra time with Kurt's careful guidance that took him more than a sweaty minute, but when it was successfully infected, there was a chorus of cheers in his ear.  Though none of them knew what Stark would find hidden behind government firewalls and within encrypted emails or what he would do with it, Scott knew it was something.  Maybe even something big enough to get his name cleared so he could get back home to see Cassie more often.

He hoped it would be.

Climbing out of Ross' pocket and making his way to a hiding spot by a cufflink so that he could make a hasty retreat when he finally needed to, Scott crouched and waited, finally catching some of what was going on in the cell Ross was so heavily monitoring.  All of the cameras--and there were many-- were trained on Barnes at the center of the steel room.  It was not Bucky that Ross was watching, however. Instead, his eyes were on where Tony stood before him, expression pinched up.

Over the audio feed, Scott could hear Tony speaking.  Could see Barnes shaking off the remnants of a shock that had horrified Scott upon hearing the usually stoic man scream.  The way Barnes' brow furrowed matched Scott's own look of confusion as he heard what poured from Stark's mouth.

"--in the end, Barnes, you're just a weapon. One that needs to be put down before more people get hurt."

There was a pause.  "And you're not?"

"I'm not a ticking time bomb.  You're a murderer.  And Rogers? Rogers is just as guilty. Aiding and abetting."

Barnes' face screwed up, and he leveled a glare at Tony that didn't seem to match the words that came out of his mouth.  "Fuck you, Stark."

In his mind Hank's warning rang like a bell: Never trust a Stark.

On the screen, Tony shuffled closer to Barnes' case.  "We got you. Next is Rogers. Then everybody else.  Did you really think I was ever on your side?"

Scott squinted at the monitors.  Mouth thin, Barnes looked away.

"It’s over." Stark's voice was harsh; clipped.  "It’s all over."

Ross hummed.  On his sleeve, Scott shifted, feeling a bit queasy.  

"That's enough. Open the doors." Ross said.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 

In the back of Tony's car, his helmet off, a glass of orange juice in hand, Scott stared at Stark as the other man typed rapidly on a sleek, transparent phone.  He sipped his juice, stared some more, and started when Stark glanced up at him.

"What?" he asked.

"That stuff in there," Scott cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.  "That was really good.  Acting and all that."

Stark blinked at him.  "It wasn't acting."

Throat going tight, Scott nodded. "Oh."

The car made a sharp turn and the partition separating them from the driver rolled down.  A large man looked first to Scott and then to Tony.

"Where are we headed?"

"Location is in the GPS, Happy." Stark lifted his phone and tapped it, the familiar smooth voice of FRIDAY filling the car.

"Merge onto the interstate, Mr. Hogan."

"I hate it when you do that." Happy grumbled, already rolling up the screen.

"So, uh. Where are we going?" Scott asked.

"I just have to make a stop," Tony said, jaw flexing.  "You, uh. You might need to get tiny again."

"What for?"

Tony paused on his phone again--though even from the seat next to him, Scott could make out a number of official looking documents-- twisting to look properly at him.  "You ever been to the Pentagon, Lang?"

He nearly choked on a mouthful of orange juice.

"Thought not."

* * *

 

Three days had passed since Bucky had been taken by Ross and his Task Force.  Steve had not slept since, and had only remained in the Tower on Tony's word that he would bring him back soon. 

Equally as agitated and wired to a hairpin trigger, Sam had been keeping an eye on Steve and on Stark, ready to spring if necessary-- though he was more than hoping he would not have to.  He was watching Scott's group, odd as they were, and watching Scott, and when he returned with Stark empty handed later than expected, Sam reluctantly told Steve what he had learned from talking to all four of them after Stark disappeared to the lower floors for a meeting.

Absolutely nothing.

FRIDAY did not hesitate to tell Steve exactly where in the Tower Tony was, though she did inform him that he was in a private meeting.  It did not stop Steve from storming in, stalking across the room like a predator out for blood, and taking Tony by the collar of his stupidly pristine suit and yanking him off of his feet in order to slam him down onto the table top with enough force to knock the breath out of him.  The other parties in the room already had protests on their tongues, but Steve only had eyes for Tony.  He jerked at his shirt, teeth gritting, and scowled down at him even as Tony raised his hands in surrender.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"Steve," Natasha reached for him, in a similarly delicate looking dress suit, and he shrugged her hand off.

"I didn't say I would bring him back." Stark huffed. 

"Tony," Pepper warned, her hand out and over the gun that Happy had pulled.

"That is  _exactly_ what you said." Steve told him, not sparing the time to worry about the glock leveled at his face. "Trust me, I'll bring him back.  That is exactly what you said."

"Well, I guess I lied." Tony replied, shrug small and smile tight, still pinned down against the glass table top.

The pressure across Tony's chest increased as Steve bore down on him. "You let him go. You  _put him there."_

Letting out a grunt, Tony's brows drew together, his teeth baring up at him.  "He's the one who walked out to where he could be caught in the first place."

For a second, Tony choked. Natasha cursed in Russian, going for Steve's arm again.  Across from them, Happy lifted his gun and barked out an order to release Tony.

Pepper was the one who stepped forward.  "Just tell him, Tony."

Steve made no move to let go, casting Natasha a glance for a brief moment, something frantic in his eyes.  Jaw tight, his attentions turned to Pepper, sizing her up for a brief second.  Slowly, the arm he had over Tony's collar relaxed, withdrawing enough for him to get away if he wanted.

"Tell me _what?_ ”

Voice rough, Tony shifted but did not move to flee.  "That's actually need-to-know--"

"He knows where Barnes is being kept and he's bypassed the encryptions on the Secretary's private and government accounts." Pepper snapped, eyes narrowing on Tony's rolling ones.  "He's going to get Barnes out, Captain Rogers. You just need to have a little patience."

Steve looked back to Tony, none of the tension in his expression fading even as he moved away from the table. "And while we're waiting around here, what happens to Bucky?"

"He sits in a cell. He waits." Tony propped himself up, rubbing a hand over the middle of his chest.  "Patience."

"That's a funny word," the door on the other end of the room opened, Fury's tone more than droll, his brow raised and gaze leveled on Tony.  "Considering its coming out of your mouth."

Steve's eyes narrowed when Fury walked in, equal parts wary as he was relieved.  Fury, at the very least, might be able to make some sense of all of this.  Steve moved further away from Tony, lest the itch in his palms lead him toward more violent outbursts, coming to settle at Natasha's side.  She cast him a look, a single brow raised, but said nothing, attention returning to Fury.

"Glad you could make it, Nic." Tony muttered, straightening out his shirt as he righted himself.  

"It's not often I get calls asking me to risk getting caught being not-dead from you, Tony." Fury replied, striding into the room and slapping a thumb drive onto the table.  "I hope you know what you're doing with that."

Snorting, Tony plucked it up.  "If this has what I asked for--"

"It does."

"--then I absolutely know what I'm doing with it."

Steve eyed the drive with some suspicion, glancing at Natasha as if she might hold some answer. He found little in her expression, and she made no effort to acknowledge him. His focus turned back to the drive on the table.

"What exactly is that?"

"Something that will help me get what I want," Tony tucked it into a pocket. 

Steve raised a brow at him, shifting on his feet a little, tense. "That's not an answer."

"Listen, I know you're worried or scared or whatever else, but the less you know, the more likely it is that I can pull this off." Tony replied.  "This isn't a jail break, okay?  So relax with the flexing Triple H."

Fury leaned a hip against the table.  "You play your hand wrong, and this all goes south."

"Good thing I have a couple of aces up my sleeve, then."

"And when it all goes to shit anyway? What then?" Steve demanded. 

"It _won't_ ," Tony insisted.  "But if it does--big if--well, I guess it's good I've kept your dumbass from rushing in blind and getting arrested too, isn't it?"

Pepper let out a heavy breath.  "Tony, please."

"I know what I'm doing; what clusterfuck of a political and legal storm I'm navigating. I don't have time to play nice." Tony shook his head once.

Steve shot him a look, jaw clenched tight.  "If this isn't a jail break, then what's it supposed to be? They won't just let him walk out."

"It's a trial," Tony said. "And Barnes will be sentenced under the legal authority of the judicial system."

Steve snorted out a laugh, bitter. "Yeah, because that went so well last time."

"Last time, Barnes didn't even get a psyche eval before Zemo came in and busted him out. He didn't get a _chance_ to sit a trial." Tony scowled his way.  “They didn’t get a chance to prove that he didn’t do all the things he did under his own volition.”

Steve looked at him, breath coming a little quicker now, heartbeat deafening in his ears. "They will find an excuse.  You _know_ they will.  Ross has no intention of letting him leave that place alive, you know that."

"Ross won't get a chance to do anything. _That_ \--" Tony pat the pocket where the thumb drive was. "--I can assure you.  But Barnes has to sit the trial, Steve. He _has_ to. Which means I need seven days.”

There was a lengthy pause as Steve’s gaze strayed.  Tony dipped his head to catch his eyes.

“Can you do that?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, some of the tension across his shoulders fading, something else seeming to weigh him down. "Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I can do that."

The silence that followed was a weighty one. Tony stared at him for a long second, then nodded. 

"Seven days," Fury breathed.  "You sure you can pull this off in that amount of time?"

"I'll bring a backup if I think I can't." Tony rubbed a hand over his face.  "Are we done here? I have work to do."

"And I have a business to run."  Pepper added.

Tony waved a hand toward her and Happy.  "Go. I've got this."

Her gaze darted to Steve, but she gave one short nod before clipping away in towering heels.  Happy followed with no small amount of recalcitrance. The door eased shut behind them, and Tony's gaze lingered there. Then he looked to Natasha.

"I'd like a word or twenty."

"I'm sure there will be more than that."

Something uneasy crawled under Steve’s skin, as if there was some great part of this he was missing.  For a brief second he cast Natasha a glance, as if she might be able to offer some calm to the racing of his heart.

"There'll be more than that,” Steve muttered, earning a tight lipped grin.

"Well, now that we're all getting along again." Fury said with a pointed look. "I'd like to meet these new recruits. Rogers?"

Reluctantly, Steve nodded, knowing Fury might at least play distraction for a while. He cleared his throat, and then jerked his head in invitation for Fury to follow. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

"Try not to start any new vigilante teams." Tony called.

With a snort, Fury stepped after Steve through the door.  "Stop bringing fresh blood in. Speaking of, am I gonna get to meet that spider kid anytime soon?"

"No."

"Stark."

"Bye, Nic."

When the door shut behind them, leaving Natasha and Tony behind, Steve tried not to feel like he was leaving something else behind too.

* * *

 

The courtroom wasn't unlike the others Natasha had seen in her life, although it was suspiciously void of a crowd. A row of stone faced men and women sat behind a tall desk, surveying the few people gathered for the trial; invited politicians and specific members of press.  Natasha was posed as such a reporter, the electronic film over her face uncomfortable but familiar as she tapped a pen against the spiral notepad and surveyed the rest of the room.  

The Secretary of State exchanged quiet words with his aide at the front of the room beyond the partition gate separating audience from the court itself.  Toward the front of the bench seating, the King of Wakanda sat with his hands folded neat in his lap, leaning in and nodding subtly as Kasumba spoke something to him in a hushed tone.  He was not the only foreign official present; Natasha recognized a handful of others, noted the way they sat, as if ready to place a bid on Barnes’ head the moment he entered the room. 

Something weighty settled on Natasha's shoulders.  In a room full of delegates and diplomats and judges, she knew that she could not be the only dangerous person there.   Tony’s machinations had somehow landed her here, and whilst she trusted he had his reasons for needing her in the courtroom, she wished he had explained _what_ he was doing _before_ he did it.  It would save her more than a headache.

The sound of the doors opening caused the few people within the courtroom to turn their heads, four armed guards escorting a strangely docile Bucky Barnes into the room.  The manacles that climbed his forearms were unlike anything Natasha had had the displeasure of seeing, the left side thrumming out a suspiciously familiar electrical pulse. Her expression pinched in discontent, but she made no protest, watching as he was escorted in and settled at the front of the court room. 

At the head of the room, the judges stood and the rest of the room quickly followed suit.  Stark was still nowhere to be found when one of the judges cleared his throat, as if to quiet the hush of murmurs.  The lead judge presiding over the hearing adjusted his robes as he sat back down, a panel of delegates flanking his left and his right.  Once he was seated, the rest of the room took their places.

"We all know the reason we are here today," he said with a pointed look over to where Bucky sat subdued.  "The fate of a man with more crimes to his name than years to his life hangs in the balance.  King T'Challa wishes for extradition into Wakanda.  There are claims from Germany, Russia, and Hungary for James Barnes' arrest. Secretary Ross believes execution is the only solution for his war crimes.  This case, however, is unique.  And our decision will not be made lightly, nor will it be simple."

With a nod of his head, he gestured to Ross.  "Take the floor. Make your claims."

Clearing his throat, Ross stood and adjusted his suit coat.  "Your honors, James Buchanon Barnes is a threat to every single person in this room.  The psyche evaluations which you've read only proves that he is unstable and dangerous.  I regret that the only end to this is such as it is, but execution is the only option--"

Then the doors at the back swung open.

There was a loud bustle. Many of audience in the stands drew to their feet, turning to the entrance as others twisted about to see Tony Stark striding in, smile on his face, the Secretary of Defense at his side as a group of military officers flanked the both of them.

"Sorry we're late," Tony said, holding up a paper cup.  "I had to make a stop for coffee."

Ross' eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat, shifting a little where he stood before he offered Stark a raised brow, unimpressed.

"Nice of you to finally make it." Ross said, a little flat as he liked back to the judge. "If we could continue?"

"Oh, no. Please, go on." Tony gestured vaguely as he filed into his seat next to Carter.

"As I was saying." Ross started, shoulders squaring off again. "Unique as the situation may be, this man is dangerous.  Not only to himself but to everyone he is around.  It would be counterproductive to try to contain him for the remainder of his life, and our evaluations have shown he can't be rehabilitated." 

"These are the same evaluations you submitted?"

There was a rustling of papers.

Ross cast a glance toward their hands. "Yes.”

"The psychological evaluations claim psychopathy." One of the women on the bar spoke up.  "Do you agree with that?"

Ross nodded, unwavering in his certainty. "Of course.  How else would you describe a mass murderer?"

"And you believe him dangerous enough that no amount of rehabilitation could be effective."

"May I remind you of the damage this man did in Washington DC some years ago." Ross said, one brow lifting.

"His capture and containment was successful," another argued.

"Today, yes. But I suspect he has some other larger game plan here." Ross said, mollifying. He looked right at Stark, something almost like sympathy, but stickier, in his expression. "He has many possible targets here."

"Do you believe he could escape from such captivity so easily?" The judge looked to the cuffs still locking Bucky carefully into place where he sat, head down.

"I know he can; I've seen it." Ross said, tone arrogant as he gestured to his aide.

A projector screen flickered to life, splaying grainy security footage of a cube not unlike the one Barnes had been in not one hour ago for both audience and delegates to see.  The video continued, and Ross cleared his throat.

"This was taken from the facility that tried to contain Barnes in Vienna.  He clearly had no difficulty escaping."

The crowd broke into a chorus of murmurs at the sight of the broken case, the door completely off of its hinges, glass shattered everywhere.  Natasha's shoulders drew tight where she sat.  Lips pursing, her eyes narrowed on the time stamp on the footage, then moved to where Tony was watching the screen, cup of coffee to his mouth, hand in his pocket.  Then she looked to Ross.

"Not to mention the damage he did _after_ breaking loose." Ross added with a nod, and the screen changed to an angle over the café where Tony could be seen trying to apprehend Bucky with Agent Carter and Natasha.  "He is _dangerous_. He cannot be allowed opportunity to do something like this again."

From his spot in the first row, Tony laughed, hiding it behind a hand.

The footage rolled to an end, and Ross pinned Stark with a look, oddly sharp.  "Do you find this amusing?  Because I can assure you nothing about this man is funny."

"Oh, I don't find that funny." Tony gestured to the screen.  "I find _this_ funny."

With his arms spread wide, Tony leaned back where he was sat. 

At the head of the room, one of the political delegates to the judges’ right cleared their throat.  "Mr. Stark, you will not make a farce of this hearing the way you have made previous ones.  Mr. Secretary, please go on."

"Thank you." Ross said curtly, dragging his gaze away from Tony to nod toward where Bucky sat. "Look at him.  He can't even offer us an explanation for what he's done."

From the guarded stand, Barnes didn't raise his head from where he was staring blankly at the floor in front of him.  Tilting her head, Natasha regarded his subdued frame for a moment. 

The slump of his shoulders was almost crooked.  In his lap, his hands were curled into loose fists.  His hair hung forward in his face; his jaw was tight.  Natasha shifted forward in her seat. 

"Mr. Barnes."  The judge rested forward against the curved desk he sat behind with his fellow representatives.  "Do you have anything to say for the actions that endangered and resulted in the death of civilians?  Or for your long history of violence?”  

Barnes didn't move from where he sat, jaw working.  His silence was at once deafening and telling.  It was cut only but Ross, order barking and tone sharp.

“Answer the man, Barnes.”

Barnes raised his head, looking first to Ross and then to the line of judges.  "I do what I must."

Lips pressing thin, the judge sat back in his seat.  

"He  _does_ what he  _must_ ," Ross repeated slow, hands folding behind his back.  "And we must do what we must.  James Barnes is a murderer.  An assassin.  A war criminal fifty times over.  And the only answer to this problem is a very final one." 

"And you believe that answer is execution." 

"Yes." 

Again, there was laughter.  This time Tony did nothing to muffle it. 

" _Mister Stark_."  The judge said sharply. "This is a formal trial; can you please contain yourself. Unless you have something productive to add."

"Actually," Tony pushed to his feet, holding out his coffee to the suited man next to him who blinked and took it in his shock.  "I do."

The judge blinked too, then heaved out a breath and gestured to the floor.  “Then please, go on.”

“You don't mind, do you?" Tony pulled the slim, transparent phone from his pocket, holding it up and tapping in with a few finger strokes.  “Don’t worry, Thad.  I’ve got your back.”

What was once a scene of the violent escape of Bucky Barnes from the commons in Vienna turned into a conference room, where Ross sat with a five-star general and a handful of interested US political parties.  There was no audio for an awkward second, and Tony muttered something that was probably an apology before sound cut in.

 _"--you don't think it could backfire?"_ The general asked; his nametag read Samuels. __  
  
"He's dangerous but containable.  The only issue is privacy."  
  
"Huh," Tony glanced Ross' way.  "Wonder who you're talking about."

_“We need to find a way to keep him contained while keeping the matter contained.  I don’t need anyone in this room sinking any ships.”_

Ross' expression pinched, and he turned his gaze to Stark, cold and steady, though there was something frantic behind his eyes.  "That's a private conference.  How did you get that recording?"

"Probably the same place I found this." Tony tapped his phone again, a mess of documents flitting over the screen, emails and plans to build a containment cell large enough for testing.  "Huh.  Too dangerous to keep alive, but this looks like a program development to study Barnes.  That's weird."

Ross spluttered for a second and then abruptly righted himself, expression carefully schooled even as he cast a glance at Barnes. "The Soldier is unique and yes, for some time my Take Force looked into developing a serum to match the one that was given to him.  Not to mention the potential of the technology in his arm.  Which reminds me, how was it that he came by a replacement, Stark?  Seeing as you know everything, you might be able to enlighten us."

"Great question. The tech is strikingly familiar." Tony replied, glib as he strode beyond the gate that stood between him and the procession.  "I'd say it looks like something I would make, but how in the world would I get my hands on the vibranium to make it?  Some secret meeting with the king of Wakanda?"

There was a hush in the room.  Beside Natasha, a reporter was furiously scribbling notes even as they recorded the audio with their phone.  Natasha’s eyes were only for Tony and Ross where they stood in contention.  Every so often they would flit to Bucky, to where he was tensing and relaxing, testing his bonds or perhaps preparing for something. Something pitted in Natasha's stomach.  

"Speaking of secret meetings," Tony added.  "If this plan of yours is really trashed, why did you have a meeting with Secretary Carter to look into funding this retired project of yours? Just two weeks ago even."

Ross' expression turned stony, some of the color draining from his complexion.  "That is a matter of national security.  It doesn't concern this hearing in the slightest.  Never mind the illegal methods you've clearly used to gain that information."

"Nothing illegal about having a conversation," Tony argued, gesturing back to the stands where the Secretary of Defense pushed to his feet, buttoning his suit coat as he did.  "Dr. Carter and I had a very long one, actually.  About seven days ago, after I left your Task Force’s complex."

From the front, the preceding judge nodded his head.  "Secretary Carter.  You submitted this information to Mr. Stark?"

"When he informed me of what might be occurring behind the scenes, I felt it was in the best interest of multiple parties to offer the details of our conversation, yes." Carter nodded.

"And there is truth to these statements?"

"More than enough of it."

Tony feigned a wince toward Ross.  "Is this awkward? I feel like this is awkward."

"I don't see what any of this has to do with the trial." Ross grunted, not quite loud enough to be heard throughout the courtroom.  "That information doesn’t change the reality that this man is dangerous beyond containment."

“And yet you want to contain him."

"It was proposed, _yes_." Ross admitted, expression twisting. "But a more suitable solution could be found in execution."

Tony gestured to one of the screens and it flickered to another document.  "Interesting research into things that cause temporary paralysis and create the illusion of lifelessness."

"That's irrelevant." Ross snapped. "Our research into other projects are not your concern."

"Not mine, maybe." Tony grinned and gestured with his head. "But it is theirs."

"Anyone would think I was the one on trial here." Ross said with a dubious laugh.

"Maybe you should be." Tony replied.  "Especially knowing that the man you're trying to entrap--or at the very least have killed--is only as dangerous as the person controlling him wants him to be.  And that's not possible anymore."

Ross scoffed. "You honestly expect us to believe that eighty years spent terrorizing innocent people can just be turned off.  He's a killer, and that will never change."

"James Buchanan Barnes is a war hero." As Tony spoke, grainy black and white footage played on the screen, of a soldier with so many others fighting for the freedom of others at the risk of their own.  "He served alongside the best of the best, and then was captured and manipulated into what he is by the same men who caused all of the chaos in DC three years ago.  The only killer was whoever pulled the strings."

"So you deny that he had any involvement?" Ross asked sharply.  “There are more than a dozen cases where Barnes is explicitly involved—“

"That's enough for a moment, General." The judge said, turning his attention to Stark. "You're telling us that Barnes was under the control of Hydra?"

Tony turned to him. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"And is there a reason this hasn't been bought to my attention sooner?"

"Oh," Tony blinked, and from her seat Natasha twisted the urge to bring a hand to her face, Tony’s nonchalant dismissal creating a visible tension in Ross’ shoulders.  "Secretary Ross didn't mention that?"

"He must have." The judge replied tightly. "But please, continue."

"Well, thanks to all of those handy files that were leaked--heavily encrypted still, but leaked--it was easy to find the trail." Their phones all buzzed.  "Feel free to read them over."

Ross shot him a glare, even as his aide rattled through her phone, catching his attention with a frantic little whisper. The judge turned to his colleagues, exchanged a few quiet words with them for a moment before he looked back over the gathered officials and select press.  "This session is adjourned.  We will reconvene at a later date to account for the new information."

"Your Honor, is that really necessary--"

"I said we will reconvene." The judge interrupted, tone final as he stared Ross down.

The courtroom bustled to life as people began to make their way outside.  In the crowds, no one saw Ross make his way down to the guards at the front of the room.  The sound of footsteps and hushed questions muffling the _clank-rattle_ of manacles falling to the floor.  The guards scattered, faster than they should have, and within seconds the courtroom descended into panic.

In the mess of people filing out the door and the hush of murmurs filling the chamber, it wasn't until Bucky was across the room and Tony was on the floor cradling his right eye that the screaming started.  Natasha was too far back with the press, though she could hear Ross barking orders to open fire on Bucky.  She spotted T'Challa as he vaulted the bench seats, trying to reach where Bucky had plucked Tony up like he was nothing, hands tight around his throat, and something a lot like horror tightened at the back of her own as Tony struggled. 

Shoving forward through the panicked crowd as they tried to escape, she tried to keep track of the two of them, T'Challa's progress, and the hesitant look on the guards' faces as they leveled their weapons. Just as quickly as there was terror, there was quiet.  T'Challa stilled and caught Bucky as he slumped suddenly and abruptly away from Tony, and Tony staggered a moment, hand to his neck.  Even still, Ross' voice rang out, berating before the harsh and deafening _bang_ of gunfire drowned out everything else.  
  
For a very long second, Natasha felt like she may be under water. 

In the next, there was nothing but dread and blood.

* * *

 

 _"In terrifying turn of events, shots were fired during today's trial of James Buchanan Barnes. Details are still murky, but we know that while most were left uninjured, one man is in critical condition._ __  
  
More after this commercial break."


	11. Chapter 10: Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2

“How does something like this happen?” Wolf Blizter asked, bushy brows drawn together over his eyes.  “This trial was high stakes.  There were select press and individuals present.  The only ones with weapons were the guards with Barnes.  It is an international incident on our own soil.”

“You _can’t_ just call it an international incident, Wolf.”

“I can,” Wolf insisted.  “He’s a criminal.  A worldwide known criminal.  Ever since Vienna, eyes have been out for this Barnes character, and yet somehow he not only made it _back_ to the states, but he was caught again, only to break free _again_.  During a trial set on United States soil.”

“But there are still so many details we aren’t privy to yet,” one of the women on the other side of the table argued.  “We don’t know what went on in the courtroom.  We don’t know how he got free, or that it was unsanctioned in the first place.  All we know is that someone got hurt, Barnes is missing again, and Secretary Ross left with armed security escorting him.”

Wolf chuffed out a breath.  “Well, that’s all I need to know that it is, in fact, an international incident.  Whatever happened in that courtroom, it involved a man who can only be referred to as an international assassin, someone got hurt, and no one is willing to come forth and give any clear answers.”

“I still think we need to wait before we can make any sure claims,” one man insisted. 

“And while you wait, the world watches.”

Letting out a sigh, he shrugged.  “Then let them watch.”

* * *

 

Tony watched as Bucky came down from the rush of electricity, twitching as his head hung between his shoulders.  The next seconds were a daze.  A blur.

Then he bared his teeth and smiled.  “I want a moment with him.  Alone.”

Ross canted his head.  “Why?”

Hands flexing at his sides, he stepped forward toward Ross, and placed a companionable hand on Ross’ shoulder that was probably a bit too tight.  “Consider it a need for closure.”

For a long moment, Tony thought maybe Ross would deny him this.  Then he nodded.  “Ten minutes,” he said, and moved away toward the door.

When it was shut and they were alone, Tony tapped his watch and turned to Bucky. "He is going to hear what he wants to hear," Tony said, urgent. "But he'll still see us and what he hears will not be something you'd react well to."

Bucky was silent for a moment, breath rattling in his chest as he recovered.  He shook as the last of the current left him, muscles twitching and seizing, a familiar burn taking residence all over his body.  It took him a moment to realize that Tony was talking to him, clearing the heavy weight over his mind.  

"What? What's he hearing?” Bucky frowned, head still shaking slow.  “You gotta… you gotta go, Tony.  You gotta get out of here.”

“Every fear you've ever had of me and what I might do to you," Tony hissed.  "Every doubt.  Every expectation.  That's what he's hearing.  He's hearing what that version of me might sound like.  And I’m not leaving.  Not yet."

Taking a breath, Tony crowded closer to the glass again. His eyes darted fervently over Bucky, though his expression was dark.

"So I need you to stop acting worried and start acting angry or scared or whatever." Tony said.  "Because I'm going to get you out of here.  And the best chance I have of doing that is making sure Ross is none the wiser about the fact that I actually _like_ you."

Bucky's brows pulled in, processing what he'd been told a little slower than he might have normally, breath slowly evening out again.  Occasionally his left arm would twitch, residual current messing with the circuitry.  He shook his head as is to clear it, gaze snapping to Tony again.

The bars over him rattled again as he moved against the restraints, careful not to push too hard lest he trigger the shock again. When Bucky spoke, there was something intense in his gaze, laced in his voice, that wasn't motivated by the part he was playing.  "The second you think Ross is catching on, you go.  Do you understand me?  You are not sticking this out if it means he finds out what you're doing."

"I can handle him." Tony assured, a bit more cocky than perhaps he should've, before a severe expression twisted his features. "I just needed--Listen, I can't get you out today. I can't even guarantee I can get you out tomorrow.  But I _will_ get you out.  I needed you to know that.  And I needed to make sure you weren’t, you know, dead already."

"I don't care if you can't. You just keep them safe. You make sure Ross doesn't find the others." Bucky told him. "You make sure Steve doesn't do anything stupid like try and bust me out of here. I don't care what you need to tell him, I don't care what you gotta do, but you are _not_ letting them fall because I was stupid."

"Bucky," Tony said, for perhaps the first time, his brows drawing together, a terrifying determination on his face.  " _I'm getting you out of here_."

Bucky huffed out a sound of discontent, bars rattling as he sat back again, aggravated. "You can't play hero this time. We all knew this was gonna happen eventually. They can't just let someone like me parade around the city."

There was a pause. Then Tony's face broke in a brilliant, broad smile.  Though that too was frightening in its own right.

"You're not staying here.”  Tony said.  "I just needed you to know that."

"Yeah, well, if the people here get their way you might get to bring me home in a bag." Bucky said.

"Stop talking." Tony shifted, all agitated lines.  "FRIDAY is working hard enough to cover me, and the only thing coming out of your mouth is resignation."

Bucky’s expression went tight. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Sit there. Look angry. Shut up." Tony shrugged. "Let me save you."

Bucky glowered at him, uncomfortable with the idea of being saved.  He said nothing more, expression twisted up as he retracted as best he could in his cell, unable to truly get away. 

"A few things are going to happen.  A lot of it won't be great." Tony grimaced.  "But I'll get you out of here."

"Yeah, I got the not great part when they tried to turn me into Frankenstein's monster." Bucky retorted.

"I'm sorry." Tony breathed, shaking his head.  "I'm sorry."

Bucky shook his head. "It's okay. I'm used to it."

Tony's noise wrinkled up.  "You shouldn't have to be."

Then the doors behind him slid open.

"If you're done, Stark." Ross called.

Reluctantly, Tony stepped away.

Bucky cast Tony once last glance as he moved from the cell, expression marred by a frown. Tony was in far over his head. These people had no intentions of being bargained with. Besides, Tony had nothing to give that they wanted. Once he'd moved far enough away, Bucky's eyes flickered to Ross, something seething in them, watching him as he moved, as if Bucky wasn't the one stuck inside a cell.

Ross clapped a hand onto Tony's shoulder, squeezing tight. His smile was a severe one, and then he moved to escort Tony away.  
  
"I'll see you when I get back, Mr. Barnes." He said.  
  
Under his hand, Tony tensed but let himself be led away with one of those crooked, cocky smiles. 

* * *

 

Having Lang literally in his pocket was more than odd as he waited at the North entrance, watching a few of the guards off duty jog around the gardens that over looked the Potomac. The drive had been a little long, but it had given him time to go over the new documents he had access to at the tips of his fingers.  Sun high and hot in the sky, Tony stripped down to his suit shirt and loosened his tie as he waited.  At his wrist, he glanced at a Patek Philippe watch.

He knew that there was still a level of distrust there—between Lang and himself.  Knew that no one really trusted him these days.  He hoped it might work in his favor.

Behind him, the doors swung open.  He turned and smiled, jaunting up the steps to greet the man with an outstretched hand.

"Secretary Carter," Tony nodded first to him and then to the assistant trailing behind him.  "Thank you for making some room in your schedule to see me."

"Nonsense," Carter offered a friendly smile, gesturing Tony into the air-conditioned building.  "Just postponed a meet-and-greet with some interns.  Brilliant batch this year.  Have you taken on any interns? Personally, I mean."

"Can't say I have."

"Look into it," Carter adjusted his coat as they paced down a long outer hall.  "Now. In your message you mentioned something about my doctoral work?"

"Your postulation explaining the behavior of nuclear reactions and your analysis of subatomic particle structures was what I was looking at, actually." Tony admitted, keeping astride with him.

Carter blinked. "You've been reading up on my work in quantum chromodynamics.”

“Specifically your work in quantum field theory.”

Carter cast him an odd look, brows drawn together, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.  “This is a strictly scientific interest, isn’t it, Mr. Stark?  You aren’t planning on getting back into the weapons business.  Not counting the one you like to walk around in.”

“Strictly scientific interest.  I’m looking at ways to improve the clean energy produced by the Arc Reactor.”  Tony assured.  “And the Iron Man suits are—“

“Peacekeeping tools,” Carter nodded with a soft laugh.  “I remember the show you put on with Senator Stern back in 2010.”

Tony appeared vaguely chagrinned, head dipping and lips thin.  “I’ve learned to play ball a bit better since then.”

“I’m sure.”

They paused for a moment as the Secretary stopped at a door, tapping a badge to one of the card readers and waiting for the lock to click open.  Stepping in, he ushered Tony inside, introducing him to the young blonde woman that stood up from behind a desk cluttered with what appeared to be policy papers and then to the well-dressed intern that shook Tony’s hand a little too vigorously. 

After a few niceties, they excused themselves to Carter’s private office and took their respective seats.  Without another word, Tony leaned forward and placed his phone on the desk between them.  Carter eyed it and then Tony as he inched slightly over to see what Tony was tapping onto the slim holo screen.  As Tony pressed his thumb to the screen, it scanned his print and flashed red once.  Carter, one brow up, opened his mouth to demand Tony explain what exactly he was doing when Tony held one finger to his own mouth and shook his head.

Not a second later, there was one heady pulse that spread like webbing over the room.  Blinking, Carter sat back, a faint ringing occupying the space between his ears, and then a soft _pop_ crackled somewhere along the edges.

“What was--?”

“I just killed all outside comms,” Tony said, tucking his phone back into his inside pocket.  “I have reason to believe you’re being closely monitored, Dr. Carter.  Mostly because I’ve hacked the same bugs that are listening to you.”

Carter’s mouth pressed thin.  “Explain.”

“Secretary Ross,” Tony replied.  “He’s playing a long game.  One that includes keeping you in the dark about some otherwise shady plans.”

“What sort of plans?”

“The kind that include the persecution and imprisonment of an innocent man,” Tony said.

“Do you have proof?”

“Check your email.”

Carter hesitated.  “Mr. Stark, this is highly dangerous territory.  If you’re planning on sabotaging a plan put into place by Secretary Ross or if there is sensitive information in what you have sent me, it is both unlawful and unethical for me to—“

“I’m questioning the legal and ethical standing of the Secretary of State.”  Tony replied, tone clipped.  “And I really think that you should examine what I’ve sent you before you decide to turn me away.”

“And what’s the catch?”

Tony shrugged; hands out, palms up.  “I just need some information.  And for you to attend a trial on the fifth for the fate of James Buchanan Barnes.”

“And if I don’t like what I find in what you’ve sent me?”

“Considering what you’ll find is nothing but evidence of the good General’s corruption, I expect you won’t like it at all.” Tony grinned, tight lipped and sharp eyed.  “And I expect you’ll come to find Ross unfit for his position.”

Nodding, Carter leaned heavily back in his chair.  “I have questioned the reasons behind a number of his actions since his instatement.  The Accords were a step in the right direction—“

“But they were sloppy.”

“Yes.  I suppose the idea was to cap a lid on the… _enhanced_ problem until we could find a better solution for it.”

Tony’s face downturned into a grimace.  “And The Raft was the answer?  Leash all of the potential threats even when all they’re trying to do is save you?”

“You signed the Accords, Mr. Stark.  You pushed for them.” Carter’s brows drew in heavy. 

“I pushed for a solution to the messes I’ve helped make while trying to protect the people of this planet, yes.” Tony nodded.  “I signed the Accords in hopes that they would help prevent future catastrophe.  Instead, it tore my team apart and landed a number of them in high security lockdown and listed on an international Most Wanted list.”

“You’re saying the Accords were a mistake.”

“I’m saying the Accords _as they are now_ are a mistake.”  Tony agreed.  “I’m saying Ross in charge is a mistake.”

“Because you believe him to be corrupt in some ethical way.”

Tony shook his head and leaned in.  “Because I _know_ him to be.”

There was a moment of breath.  Carter crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Tony, eyes shrewd behind the thick rims.  

“You throw a good pitch, Mr. Stark.”  Carter finally huffed.  “And here I thought you were genuinely interested in my work in physics.  Instead, you want to oust a political figurehead for moral corruption.”

“Well, actually I _am_ interested in your theories on subatomic particle structure.”  Tony smiled.  “ _And_ I want to create such an environment that every decision, every policy made under Ross’ go ahead, comes into question.”

“The Accords?”

“In dire need of a makeover.”

Humming, Carter leaned in to rest his elbows on the desk.  “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.  Where would you like to start?”

* * *

 

“—it was incredible.” Scott concluded, casting a look Tony’s way where he was hovering at Kurt’s side, both of them scanning through new documents that scrolled over the screen at a rapid pace.

One hand on his chin, arms crossed, Luis glanced their way too.  “So you think he’s gonna, like, clear all your names or something?”

“Or something.”

Eyes narrowing, lips pursing, Luis nodded slow.  Then he grinned and clapped Scott on the shoulder.  “That’s _choice_ , man.”

Laughing, Scott dipped his head in a bashful nod of his own.  “It’s something.”

The light of Kurt’s laptop screen played over Tony’s features in whites and blues as Scott studied him.  It made his usually daunting—though, surprisingly small—stature seem less intimidating somehow.  Perhaps it was the way it seemed to soften the furrow of his brow, the press of his mouth, into something like worry instead of scrutiny.

Or perhaps that was just the doubt that Scott had had in Tony finally vanishing.

“So how did you all meet?” Tony asked without glancing up, pointing to something as Kurt nodded and typed rapidly.  “Brilliant trio like you, up to no good.  There’s gotta be a story.”

Luis nearly leapt out of his chair, hands rubbing together.  “Well, you see, I met my boy Scottie through a mutual acquaintance of my cousin’s godson—“

* * *

 

As soon as the room was empty, Natasha was next to Tony, placing one tentative hand at his back as he rubbed a slow circle over his chest.  She could feel the muscles between his shoulders grow tense under her fingertips.  Without a word, she withdrew.

Tony’s tells were few and far between, a lifetime of pretending and surviving under his belt, but she had learned to spot his hurt in the half a decade she’d known him.  At best, he was volatile—dangerous—when injured or scared.  She knew better than to leave herself bare to his hostility.  His sharp defensiveness.

When he looked at her though, there was a quiet desperation she had not seen in years in the glass of his dark eyes.  Not since the night of his birthday, helping him choose a watch, his own death weighing heavy on his shoulders.

She’d tried to comfort him then, in her way.  She hadn’t known him then—the frustrating, angry, broken man hiding under all of the narcissism.  She knew him now, though.  Knew he would persevere with all odds stacked against him.  Knew that he would kill to fix his mistakes.  That he would die for them.

That, ultimately, was what frightened her the most.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“When am I not?”

Sighing, she closed her eyes.  “Tony…”

“I need you at the trial tomorrow.”  Tony said, face in profile to her, expression grim, gaze on the empty doorway.  “To have my back.  Just in case.”

“What exactly do you expect to happen?” Natasha frowned, searching his features and finding nothing but a quiet resignation in the lines set around his eyes and mouth.

There was a long pause.

Then Tony looked at her.  “I expect to win.”

* * *

 

Later, when Natasha finally shoved her way through the scattering masses, she found Bucky slumped and dazed under T’Challa’s watchful gaze, and felt nothing but relief.  Like wings fluttering beneath her ribs.

She knew that Steve would have broken to lose Bucky.  She knew that he might never come back from it.  To find him ruffled and in some place between consciousness and unconsciousness but ultimately unbloodied and unbruised was something like a blessing. 

Then she saw Tony.

Hand to his side, he made a wet sound and met her gaze with wide eyes of his own.  She saw his right knee give and lurched for him, catching Tony in the sink of her arms until they were overflowing with him.  Teeth grit, she grunted and slowly lowered him to the floor.  The smell of blood was already sharp; it left a tang at the back of her mouth that she had to swallow past.

“Look at that,” Tony breathed, hand pressed firm over the gunshot, fingers red, blood already soaking his shirt.  “I won.”

“ _How_ is this winning?” she asked, voice tight with irritation.

He gestured vaguely with his chin.  “Smoking gun.”

When she looked over to Secretary Ross with one of the guards’ gun in hand, she couldn’t help but laugh.  Tony chuckled too, then winced, and her focus fell on him once more, helping apply pressure to his side.

“You’re an idiot,” she huffed.

“I’m brilliant.”

“Yeah,” she offered a tight smile.  “Yeah, that too.”

* * *

 

“So what exactly happened in that courtroom?” Kelly asked, leaned in, eyes narrowed.

“For lack of a better phrase, a big screw up.”  Her guest replied with a shark grin, offering a lazy shrug.  “I mean, Stark shows up and it turned into another monkey show.”

Kelly’s lips thinned.  “Are you implying that Tony Stark is _at fault_ for getting shot during the hearing?”

“Stark unveiled very sensitive material to a lot of people who weren’t supposed to have access to that information.  What he did was reckless.”

“Reckless, yes.  But I think what he did was necessary.  You know I’m not one to defend Stark’s actions; I’ve questioned them more frequently than not.  Instead of blackmailing the Secretary, Stark offered up information in a setting that was meant to show Secretary Ross in an unflattering light where someone could do something about it.  You don’t think he did the right thing in bringing something as big as this to the attention of the public?” Kelly pressed.

“I think he did something that got him shot.”

“ _By_ the Secretary.  You don’t think that’s a little suspicious?”

The man waved a hand.  “I don’t think we can take the word of a single New York Times journalist.”

“But it’s not just a single journalist.  There are multiple reports and sources and witnesses who have confirmed the evidence that Stark unveiled at the hearing, and you have to take into account the information about Ross that has been leaked since—“

“I won’t believe it until I see proof of the specific claims he made.”

Kelly paused, blinking a couple of times.  “You don’t think that Secretary Ross should step down?”

“Not at all.”

“We’ve impeached more powerful people for far less.”

“I just don’t think that trying to protect this country, implied collusion or otherwise, should be considered a bad thing.”

“Even when it leads to the imprisonment of one of America’s oldest heroes?”

“Even when it leads to the imprisonment of a _dozen_ of America’s heroes.”

Kelly hummed.  “I think you’ll find that the public will disagree.  And if the majority of Americans distrust the Secretary of State, then it’s unlikely he has an illustrious career ahead of him.”

“Then the American public are making a mistake.”

Lips thin, Kelly nodded.  “Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

The camera view changed.  Kelly, facing forward, offered a smile.

“Up next, we have an interview with the reporter that broke the silence on what exactly happened in the courtroom.  We will discuss what happened, step by step, and what exactly the outcome of such a disaster might be.  See you after this break.”


	12. Chapter 11: (Don’t Fear) The Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And in the aftermath...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter early because I will be traveling for the next four days.

The soft, steady pulse of the monitor to his left was what roused him.  He didn’t start awake like he might’ve—chords and bandages and blood too familiar—but the smell of too clean and the starch of the sheets stopped his heart from raising the moment he broke consciousness.

He didn’t have to feel the pain in his side to remember what landed him in a hospital bed.  All he needed was the hand in his and the soft murmur of Downton Abby on the monitor.

* * *

 

“You were _shot_ ,” Pepper frowned the moment the nurse left the room; though her hand was still in his.  “You almost got yourself killed.  _Again_.”

“I would apologize, but it really was kind of necessary.” Tony argued, propped up carefully against a number of pillows, IV dripping off somewhere to his right, voice rough and throat sore.

He made quite the sight, tan skin against stark white sheets, bruise purpling on his right cheekbone, at his split lip, around his neck in the shape of fingers.  That didn’t account for the twenty or so stitches along the left of his ribcage or the tightness of his throat from the endotracheal tube they used during his emergency surgery. 

Pepper pursed her lips even as Happy shook his head from somewhere over her shoulder, trying and failing to signal Tony to admit defeat.  Or to at least pretend to.

“I was scared, Tony.” She scolded.  “Again.”

His expression pinched, pained, and he squeezed at her fingers as they laced tighter in his.  “I’m sorry.”

With a soft sigh, she nodded once.  “I know.  Which is why I’m not mad.”

A slow smile curled on his mouth.

“But I’m still irritated and concerned.”  Pepper added, sitting up primly in her chair, even in a rumbled dress suit and loose waves from sleeping at his bedside.  “Which is why I called Rhodey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Pep—“

The door opened.  Tony closed his eyes and sighed. 

Both Rhodey and Natasha strode in, Natasha trailing at Rhodey’s back as he ambled in, most of his weight on a braced cane that Tony had specially designed for him.  His legs were still strapped, but he seemed to be moving with much more ease.  He also had a bit of a beard going. 

Just over his left shoulder, Natasha peered down at Tony.  Her hair was pinned back and she was dressed down in a pair of jeans and an ill-fitting shirt.  Tony actually blinked at her a few times.  The blatant evidence of concern was odd for him to find in her; she was usually so good at hiding it.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you aren’t bullet proof without the suit, Tony.” Rhodey said as he stopped at the edge of his hospital bed.

Tony attempted a shrug.  “I’m a scientist.  I really have to test things before I can believe them.”

Rhodey huffed out a weary laugh, shaking his head and reaching out to grasp Tony’s shoulder.  “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Roberta’s been taking good care of you,” Tony replied, eyeing him.  “Have you packed on a few pounds to go with that wild man look? I feel like you’ve packed on a few of pounds.”

Arms crossed, Natasha snorted.  “Even hospital grade pain killers don’t stop the jokes?”

“I have an endless supply.”

Happy cleared his throat.  “Do either of you have your security badges?”

Rhodey moved to absently pat at his pants pocket in response, casting an idle glance to Happy with a shrug before he returning his attention to Tony.  With a roll of his eyes, Happy crossed his arms over his chest. 

Natasha shifted beside Rhodey.  A crease formed between her brows as she looked Tony over.  

"Seems you have an endless supply of lives too."

"It's nothing. Barely grazed me."

Rhodey raised his brows at Tony. "Just grazed you. I'm sure."

"They pulled a slug out of your chest, Stark. That's hardly a graze." Natasha said flatly. 

"On the plus side," Tony said.  "No collapsed lung."

Natasha huffed out a sigh, and her expression softened somewhat. "Never pull a stunt like that again."

"I make no promises," Tony replied. 

Pepper buried her face in a hand.  "Tony, this is serious."

"I know.  Which is why I can't promise anything." Tony's mouth pressed into a thin line. "What I did was important.  And it was necessary."

"You try convincing Barnes of that." Natasha replied.

"How is he?" Tony asked, brows drawing together.

Natasha shrugged. "Okay.  Considering.  Rogers is staying with him."

"Does he know? About the ruling?" Tony asked.

"Considering he's in self-imposed isolation and Steve hasn't exactly left his side, I'd doubt it." Natasha shook her head.

"Why hasn't anyone told them?"

Natasha's lips pressed together, and she was silent for a moment. "I don't think it'll sit well with him now."

Tony tried to sit up in his bed.  "But it's good news.  It's _great_ news."

Rhodey shifted on his feet, a bit stiff.  "Easy, Tony.  They'll find out.  It's not like anything is gonna change."

"No, but if I can get Barnes acquitted, I can get everyone else off free and clear too.  The Accords aren't even treading water the way they are right now with Ross under investigation and T'Challa pushing the other nations to look at them again." Tony insisted with a wince.  "This isn't the kind of thing you don't share with a person."

"And they'll be told when it's time." Natasha said evenly. "Maybe let them come to you? Or at least let Rogers come to you."

"Right," Tony slumped back against his pillows.  "You're right."

Eyes narrowing, Natasha tilted her head.  “So you’ll stay on bed rest?  Let yourself heal the way the doctors want you to?”

"It's not like they're going anywhere," Tony's face shrugged.

Natasha blinked, gaze searching his.  With a huff, she glanced away, eyeing the mess of balloons and flowers and cards that littered the far wall of Tony’s private hospital room.  She caught sight of a small, handstitched Iron Man doll, and her mouth twitched.

Pepper let out a breath, shoulders falling.  "Good. Because Dr. Strange said bed rest--and lots of it."

"Of course. " Tony nodded, amiable.

"I'll let them know you woke up,” Natasha offered, focus drawing back down to the man without the suit, bruised and battered and still trying.

"Thank you," Tony said with a sincere but tired smile.

Rhodey reached out and squeezed at his shoulder again.  "You should get some sleep, man."

"Well, I mean, if you insist." Tony winked up at him, already laying back.

"Don't make Happy play babysitter." Natasha said as she shifted away from the hospital bed. 

"I'm his bodyguard," Happy stated, faltering a moment.  "When he needs it."

"Thank you,  Happy." Pepper smiled, pushing to her feet.  "And now that you're awake and we know there isn't any further damage to your brain than there was before--"

"That hurts." Tony placed a hand over his chest.

"-- I can go home and shower.  And sleep somewhere horizontal."

"That's it then?" Tony frowned, though it was more for show than anything else.  "I just woke up. You're all just gonna leave me here?"

Rhodey and Pepper exchanged a look.  "Yes."

"We only do check-ins." Natasha added from over Rhodey’s shoulder.

"You're all terrible people," Tony called after them.

Rhodey waved a hand as he made his way out of the suite. 

It was Pepper that lingered in the doorway.  "I can stay.  If you need me,  I can stay.  I know you hate--"

"Go home, Pep." Tony's smile was small.  "Happy will call if I need you."

Hesitant, she gave one slow nod. "Okay.  Get some rest."

"Resting," Tony closed his eyes. "This is me resting."

With an indelicate snort, Pepper pushed away from the door jamb.  "Sleep,  Tony. I'll be back tomorrow."

And then she was gone.

Tony kept his eyes closed for five seconds, then opened them and tossed his blankets aside.  From his spot by the window, Happy sighed.

"You're not resting, are you?"

"Are you kidding?"

Happy shot him an unimpressed look, but his resolve quickly flagged, drawing another sigh out of him. "At least try to wait until they clear the building? I'm not explaining to Pepper and Rhodey. Or to Romanoff."

"Have I told you today that I love you, Happy?" Tony replied, already trying to climb out of bed. 

"No.  And I don't want you to if it means Romanoff does that thing with her legs again."

Tony waved him off, steadying himself with another faint wince.  He pressed a hand to his side and Happy grunted.

"And you have to wear the sling. And take your meds. And let me drive you.  And use the wheelchair.”

Tony grinned. "I might kiss you.”

Happy rolled his eyes with an undying kind of fondness but moved to his side, bracing him as Tony tried to stand.  "And I'm getting FRIDAY to give me check-ins if you so much as breathe too hard." 

Leaning up, Tony kissed him on the cheek, laughing as Happy sputtered out a curse and steadied Tony as he wobbled. 

* * *

 

The thick plate glass of the towers isolation cells set an unnatural kind of chill in the air, all filtered and processed atmosphere. It set a prickle up Bucky's arm, but otherwise didn't raise a reaction as he turned from the glass door that kept him locked away. He could feel the pressure of a heavy gaze on him, unrelentingly stubborn, until he turned around again. From behind the glass, Steve Rogers stood-- arms crossed, brows furrowed, impassive-- as he had for days previous.  

"Are you just gonna stand there all damn day?" Bucky demanded, something like a snarl set in his expression. 

"If you're here, I'm here." Steve replied, steady and unyielding. 

From behind the glass, Bucky heaved out a sigh, walking the short distance it was the singular cot that decorated the cell and plopping down onto the edge of it.  "Too stubborn for your own good."

"I already told you. I go when you're coming with me." Steve said, leaning against the glass, shoulder pressed in concave as he regarded Bucky. 

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Bucky asked, something resigned creeping into his tone.  

"Can't you just come out of the cell?"

"I swear to god, Rogers just--"

"What are you doing in Bruce's isolation chamber?"

The entrance to the vast room that held the glass cell hissed open and shut as Tony hobbled through the doors, plucking at the strap of a dark blue sling that kept his left arm pinned and reduced the risk of him pulling any stitches. Tony wasn’t even really looking at them, brows furrowed as he tugged at the sling a bit like a dog chasing their tail.

When he glanced up into the quiet, both Steve and Bucky were starting at him, shoulders drawn tight.  He paused, gaze sliding between them.

"You two still bickering?"

Bucky stood up the second he saw Tony come through the door.  Something twinged in the back of his mind, sharp and biting as Tony caught his eye.  It lingered, for a moment, and then Bucky forced himself to look away, expression shuttering.  At his sides, his hands drew into loose fists. 

"What're you doing out of the hospital?" Steve asked, brows furrowing in. 

"Early release for good behavior?"

Steve huffed out a dry laugh that didn't quite sound genuine, the line on his shoulders held taut as he glanced at Bucky. "I'll bet that's what happened."

Tony let out one sharp breath, shuffling forward, free hand dropping to his side.  "Listen, can we not? I kind of just finished six rounds in a Mortal Kombat fight and, like, _two_ people did finishing move fatalities. "

Steve's resolve held for only a second longer before he seemed to crumble, letting out a breath he didn’t know he'd been holding.  It had been a long week.  

Steve paused for a second, gaze intent on the plate glass and Bucky's hunched figure before he looked back to Tony. "Natasha told me what you did."

"How nice of her," Tony shifted.

"You didn't--" Steve cut himself off, expression twisting up for a second as he moved away from the glass, acutely aware of the stare Bucky had flicked their way, quiet and observant as Steve moved in closer to Tony. Steve ducked his head a little, catching Tony's eye. "I shouldn't have doubted you. I know better, but I did. I should  _never_  have doubted you."

Tony sucked in a breath, flinching back slightly under Steve's earnesty. He cleared his throat and glanced away, voice cracking when he spoke.  Whether it was because he was swallowing back something else or because of the fingerprints around his neck, Steve couldn't tell.

"I didn't exactly give you a reason _not_ to doubt me," Tony said. "Besides, I know you don't exactly--I know we aren't--"

Steve closed the remaining few steps between them in a rush, expression crumbling in a split second as he pulled Tony in. There was an unspoken care in the way Steve held him, a hand finding the back of Tony's neck, arms gentle around him, lest any disturbance come to his side. Steve's breath came in a jagged huff, a rush against Tony's temple and after a moment of quiet, Steve pulled back just enough to get words out.

"I'm sorry,” he said.  “I never should have-- Tony, I'm  _sorry._ "

Tony very nearly buckled.

He knew it was more than this.  More than Ross. It was Bucky and it was Siberia and it was his parents and it was lying to him for so long.  Tony nearly crumbled under the weight of it.

Instead, he leaned in, fingers tentative as they curled into the cotton of Steve's shirt.

They were still.  Motionless and embracing that way for a drawn out moment.  Steve gave a gentle squeeze when he felt fingers uncurl from his shirt.

Eventually, he pulled back enough to look at him, brows drawn together as he regarded Tony. "You're never gonna stop surprising me, are you?"

Tony felt something like pride unfurl in his chest.  "I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Steve pulled away from him, fingers lingering at the back of Tony's neck for a second before he retracted, glancing at the cell for a second; he was relieved to find Bucky less tense where he stood in the middle of the chamber.  "Just… maybe keep ‘em there until you don't need one of your sleeves all wrapped up in a sling."

"And don't take the sling off early." Bucky added, taking a tentative step forward, as if even from behind the reinforced glass he was unsure.

"I've been trying to get this thing off since Happy got distracted by the new receptionist in the lobby," Tony tugged at it again.

"Leave it." Bucky said, vaguely chiding. "You'll only have to leave it on longer if you take it off."

"Okay, if I wanted to be minded I wouldn't've snuck out of my hospital bed, " Tony grunted. "I came here because I have news.  Also, seriously Barnes, I just got you out of one glass case, why are you in another?"

Bucky averted his eyes, and gave a stiff shrug. "Roomier in this one."

"Save it. I've been trying to get him out of there for days." Steve said, something falling in his expression.

Brows drawing together,  Tony took a step toward the cell. "You're free.  You know that, right? They know that Ross was calling the shots.  They know about what Hydra did."

From behind him, Steve frowned.  "How--?"

"I used a ducky to hack into Ross' phone.  Then pivoted once I was in his network and I got ahold of everything.  I sent them what they needed." Tony replied,  glancing his way, shrugging a shoulder.  "Destroyed what they didn't. They know about the brain washing, that Ross used that info, and they acquitted Bucky after reviewing everything I brought to their attention."

Bucky shifted under his attention, an arm curling around his ribs, squeezing tight. As thick as the glass was, it didn't block out the sound of Tony's voice, and before long Bucky was forced to look up at him, expression drawn right.

"But the trial.  I—”  He seemed to swallow his words, gaze dipping to his feet.  “It happened again. They just going to let me go after they saw it?"

"Buck, please. We've talked about this. That was what Ross wanted." Steve said, tone even for as long as he could hold resolute under the weight of Bucky's eyes on him, wavering as he finished. 

Bucky shook his head, short and stilted.  "No.  _No._  It happened again. I hurt someone.  I know _something_ happened. He sent me after someone."

"You're right, he did send you after someone." Tony nodded. 

Steve’s jaw ticked tight.  From behind the reinforced glass, Bucky’s gaze flit to him, locking onto Tony’s in wide desperation.

"Did--?" Bucky stopped himself, fingers digging into his own side. "Are they okay?"

"It's fine," Tony shuffled closer to the unbreakable glass between them. "I dropped you before you could do much damage."

Steve shifted from foot to foot.  "And how did you manage that?"

"I kinda lied," Tony winced a bit, face swollen, so the playful lines of it were diminished. "You know.  About the book. And being able to read Russian."

Eyes closing, Steve let out a sigh. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Barnes has a shutdown code," Tony replied.  "I used it."

Buckys brows furrowed in, and he took a step closer to the glass, peering out at Tony. His stomach turned when he finally got close enough to see Tony properly, the clinical light of the isolation cell highlighting the purplish bruises on his neck. His eyes darted to Steve briefly and then down to his own hands, finding a match to the pattern bruised into Tony's skin.

"They sent me after you."

Face in profile to Bucky, Tony let out a short breath, wetting his lips before his jaw clenched.  "Yes.  But I'm fine.  I stopped you." 

“It’s not _fine_.  I could do it again.  How can you stand there and--?”

"No.  Ross  _only_  knew because of footage from where the Task Force kept you.  There was a back-up generator that caught footage but couldn't offer a live feed." Tony insisted.  "That's  _gone_.  I destroyed every copy.  Every file.  It's _gone_ , Bucky." 

"But he knows." Bucky hissed. " _Someone_ knows.  That's all it'll take."

“Then I’ll stop you,” Tony shrugged, like it was obvious.  Like it was nothing at all.  “I’ll be there to stop you.  Every time.”

Bucky shook his head, a little frantic. "No.  _No._ What if you aren't there? What if you can't? _"_

"I could drop you right  _now_ ," Tony stepped right up to the glass, eyes narrowed.  "With a  _word_.  But if you're so damn scared of yourself that you'd rather hide away in the Hulk Tank, fine." 

Tony stopped.  He looked at him, long and quiet, jaw tight.  But when he spoke, it was soft and sincere. 

"But I'm not afraid of you." 

Bucky shied away from the glass; a single step back.  He held Tony's gaze for a second and then looked away, expression twisting up.

"You're worse than Rogers. Can't you both just-- fuck off and make up elsewhere."

"Alright," Tony stepped back.  "FRIDAY, open the cell."

Bucky's expression shuttered and he looked up at the ceiling for a second.  "FRIDAY, don't open the door.  Come on, you promised."

"Tony are you sure that's a good idea?" Steve asked, a little tentative. "As much as he's an idiot for not getting out of there, maybe don't—“

The door to the isolation chamber hissed open.  Pulling the strap of the sling loose,  Tony slid his left arm free of it, dropping the material to the floor.  He stepped into the cell, brows up, hands out.

"Come at me, big guy," Tony strode forward.  "Hurt me."

"Get out." Bucky snapped, tone low as he tensed, breath catching in his throat as he moved away from the door. 

"Tony, come on, leave him be." Steve said, half way to the cell door before it hissed shut in front of him. 

"Whoops," Tony shrugged, his whole body moving with it.  "Looks like I'm stuck in here.  What are you gonna do about it?"

"I put myself in here for a reason, you idiot." Bucky said, harsh, although he was retreating as he spoke.

"Because you're afraid you'll hurt someone?" Tony tipped his head over, the bruises an unmistakable purple on his skin.  "Kill someone?"

"I have.  I already have."  Bucky said, something aching in his chest. 

"Buck, come on you didn't know--"

"Shut up.  _Shut up_ , you don't know."  Bucky snapped, turning his gaze on Steve for a moment. 

"You're scared," Tony stepped closer. "And that's okay.  Be scared.  Be terrified of what you can do.  Of what you've done.  But Rogers and me?"

Tony gestured back to where Steve was pressed to the glass, watching them, brows pinched.  Then he gestured to himself.  To himself with his bruised face and neck and gunshot wound and scars.  He stepped ever closer.

"We aren't afraid of you.  We don't hate you." Tony said.  "Because I know that even though it was you that did it, you didn't want to.  That you would have never chose to hurt anyone."

Bucky's expression softened, and he lost all the rigidity in his stance, seeming to cave from inside out.  His eyes darted from Tony, to Steve outside the glass, and back again.

"I also know that we can fix it," Tony added, smile small. "So you never have to feel scared about losing control again.”

Bucky's brows furrowed in, and he shook his head.  "No, you can't.  It doesn't work that way; you can't fix this.  It's just how I am."

"You're right. _I_ can't." Tony moved to catch his gaze.  "But there's someone who can."

"You think I haven't tried?" Bucky asked, something desperate breaking in his voice. "You can't fix this.  No one can fix this."

"Wanda can."

Bucky paused, head tilting just so before he was shaking his head again. "I can't ask that of her."

"Jesus, it's like arguing with a brick wall." Tony dragged a hand through his hair, then grunted, right hand going to his side.

Bucky moved closer in an instant, hands jerking at his sides, like he wanted to reach out but knew better. "Be careful.  You're gonna pull something,"

"Yeah," Tony grit his teeth. "Yeah, I'm getting that."

"Steve told me you got shot." Bucky said, quieter now, shuffling in a little closer. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Tony waved a hand. "Kinda my fault anyways."

"Don't be stupid." Bucky said. "You didn't ask to get shot at."

"We don't ask for a lot of things, but here we are." Tony glanced up at him, still cradling his side. "I'd really like it if you got out of this cell now.  Because I'll be honest, I should probably be sitting down or something.  I think the pain meds from the IV are wearing off."

"Then go. I'm not keeping you here." Bucky said. "You shouldn't be here anyways."

"Yeah, but you see, FRIDAY has direct orders not to open that door until you agree to walk out with me.  Isn't that right, FRIDAY?"

FRIDAY almost seemed to sigh. "Unfortunately, sir."

Bucky heaved out a sigh, seeming to shrink. "Why'd you have to do things like this? Can't you just leave me for a while."

"If you're gonna sulk, you might as well do it in good company." Tony offered up something that was supposed to be a grin. "Besides.  I have a great bottle of brandy in my lab with your name on it.”

"Not sulking." Bucky countered, though it was halfhearted at best. 

Reaching out to him, Tony rolled his eyes. "Just fucking help me outta here, would you?"

To his credit, Bucky didn't flinch when Tony's reached for him, but his expression shuttered. "We both know you can override FRIDAY’s orders."

"Bucky," Tony straightened, lips pressed thin, a bit pale under the harsh lights from above, his eyes big and begging, his hand still outstretched.  "Please."

Bucky's shoulders hunched in.  He shuffled forward, arms crossed over his chest, and he came to a slow stop right before him.  Tony’s throat worked, his jaw tight, and he waited.  Tentative, Bucky reached out and knocked Tony’s hand away with a metal one of his own.  He reached up, fingers careful as he nudged Tony’s jaw up, so gentle that his touch was almost nonexistent.  His gaze left Tony’s in order to look at the marks around his neck.

Jaw flexing, Bucky’s mouth pressed into a grimace.  "I think I've done enough already."

Head tipping back, Tony let him look at the mess of fingerprints left on his throat. He did not flinch. He did not waver.

Bucky let out a soft sound, letting the tips of his fingers flit over the bruises he'd left. A wave of visceral nausea washed over him as the contact stirred a strand of memory from forgotten recesses, and he pulled his hand away suddenly, hand dropping heavy to his side.

"You should go."

"Bucky--"

"Tony," Steve called and he was shaking his head when Tony looked his way.  "That's enough. "

"Take care of yourself okay?" Bucky said. "I better not find you back down here until I hear you were cleared."

Jaw going tight, Tony jerked back, moving to the door. He stopped briefly, faltering, then closing his eyes as he shook his head.

"This is stupid," Tony said. "You're being stupid."

"Maybe I am." Bucky admitted. "But at least I'm stupid in here and not out there."

"I can help," Tony's voice raised sharp. "Why won't you let me?"

"Done plenty already." Bucky said, tone not rising to match Tony's. "Just go with Steve okay? See if you can talk him into getting some sleep."

The door behind Tony opened. He sighed, resigned, and moved toward it with a bit more care than when he walked in.

"Buck, come on. Come out of there." Steve said, quieter this time, moving closer to the door as Tony made his way out.

"Don't start.  Please." Bucky said, something like exhaustion creeping into his tone.

Briefly, he caught Steve's eye from outside as the cell door hissed shut again, trying to ignore how the crease between Steve's brow made his chest ache.  Steve hesitated before turning away, his teeth grit, his shoulders heavy.  He paced toward Tony, offering a tentative hand, and Tony stared at it, at him, before letting Steve take some of his weight to guide him out of the chamber.

Bucky watched them go.  When the doors slid shut behind them, he tried not to feel as alone as he was.

* * *

 

In the elevator on the way up to the suites from the basement where the isolation unit Tony had constructed at Bruce's request lay, Tony moved to pull away and brace himself on the railing when Steve wrapped his arm a bit tighter around him.  Tony huffed out a tired laugh, arm on Steve's shoulder, and let him continue to support what weight Tony shouldn't or couldn't.

There was silence in the elevator for a long moment before Steve finally cleared his throat, glancing Tony's way briefly.  He shifted a little, moving Tony's weight a fraction, a deep kind of exhaustion settling into his bones.

"Thanks.  For trying before with Bucky. He'll come around eventually, I know it."

"Maybe with years of therapy," Tony grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Steve huffed out a dry sound, expression twisting. "Probably something like that, yeah."

"Or," Tony canted his head slightly.  "We ask Wanda."

"Think she'd do it?" Steve asked. "I mean, I suppose she'd be able to, but it's a hell of a favor."

"I think she'd do it for him.  For you." Tony nodded.

Steve hummed out a soft sound.  "I'll talk to her."

"Good plan." Tony muttered, blinking up as the doors slid open on the floor for Steve and Bucky's suite. "Guess this is your stop."

Steve gave a little shrug, a bit restricted, unwilling to shift too drastically.  He reached forward to close the elevator doors, pushing the button for the top floor without preamble. He shifted a bit as he settled in again.

"Guess it was."

"You don't have to do this," Tony frowned.  "Don't get me wrong, it's appreciated. But apology accepted."

"You just got shot. I'm just making sure you get back okay." Steve said evenly. "Although, you should be going back to the hospital."

"Not happening."

"Yeah, I know." Steve said, only slightly exasperated. "Just don't do anything stupid."

"This is--" Tony cut himself off with a laugh.  "This is fucking surreal."

Steve's lips quirked, but it was halfhearted at best. "You're telling me."

With a grimace, Tony pressed a gentle hand to his side. He took one breath, then another, like he was debating the words burning in his mouth.

"You know you can't...you can't just apologize and everything goes back to how it was, right?"

"I know.  Of course it won't." Steve said, brows furrowing in. "An apology can't even begin to cover it, but I'm not having you hobbling around, tearing your stitches."

Swallowing thick, Tony gave a small nod. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"I'll get out of your hair soon anyways." Steve said, giving a half shrug. "Gotta go keep Buck company."

"Oh, no. You're going to talk to Wanda. Then you're going to sleep." Tony insisted.  "He can't leave the cell. If you're worried about him bolting, it won't happen."

"I know he won't bolt." Steve said, glancing down at Tony. "But he's all alone down there. I don't want him to be alone."

"Probably smart." Tony admitted. "Head does funny things when it's alone.  FRIDAY?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Arrange for a cot to be delivered down there.  And maybe some pizza. I'm sure there hasn't been a lot of eating going on."

"You don't have to do that." Steve said, ducking his head a little. "Floors not that uncomfortable."

"It's solid pavement."

Steve shrugged a little. "Not the worst."

"Remember that conversation? About punching you in your perfect teeth?" Tony stared up at him.

Steve huffed out an amused sound as the elevator doors opened before them. "How could I forget?”

"There'll be a cot for you. And blankets. And a pizza. Probably more than one." Tony added. "You know I should revamp the Hulk Tank. It's great for confining, but not very cozy. How would Bruce ever expect to calm big mean and green down in a place like that?"

"Do they even make Hulk sized furniture?" Steve asked, raising a brow at Tony as he walked them out of the elevator. 

"Ikea has everything."

"Can't argue with that." Steve said, pausing in Tony's living room. "Where to?"

"Couch," Tony gestured.  "There's stuff I need to do."

Steve shot him a flat look, but guided Tony to the couch all the same, lowering him down slow. "Just... Go easy, okay?"

Settling back against the cushions, Tony waved him off.  "I'll be fine.  I've had much worse and performed under far greater risk."

"Still." Steve replied, giving Tony a pointed look before he turned to leave. "You know where we'll be if something comes up."

"I'm sure FRIDAY will tell you if I start bleeding out."

"Likely before, sir."

Tony grinned.  "That's my girl."

Steve rolled his eyes, although there was something fond in it. "I know she will. But I hope it doesn't get to that."

"Right," Tony said, though there was still some dubiousness about it.  "Well, get some rest.  Bright and early tomorrow. Don't forget to talk to Wanda."

"I won't forget." Steve said, hands settling behind his back as he stood, waiting in the elevator, held steady until the doors slide shut in front of him. 

* * *

 

Wanda's floor always caught Steve off guard. No matter how often he visited, there was always something new, something out of place that caught his eye. Today, it was the small cluster of magazines that were left strewn by her coffee table.  There were a number of current issues of _Time,_ a _NatGeo,_ and most telling, a _Teen Vogue._

His mouth worked.  He lingered out by the elevator door for a moment, paused, ready to announce himself before a voice called out from deeper within the suite. 

"I'll be out soon."

Steve looked toward the sound of Wanda's voice, brows drawing in, peering at her as she emerged from further in her suite.  Snapping the last round of a hair band around the bun on top of her head, Wanda offered him a smile.

"FRIDAY said you were coming.  How have you been?" 

Steve returned her smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.  He was silent for a moment longer before he let out a soft sigh, inclining his head.

"Okay. It's been okay.” He admitted.  “It's been better at least, with everything settling down again."

"Bucky is alright, you mean?" she asked, smile small, head tilting as she padded on quiet feet over plush carpet.

Her suite was a contrast to Steve and Bucky's own. It was all warm colors--reds, of course, and browns and yellows with accents of crème--that seemed specially designed to suit her grace.

Steve had the decency to duck his head a little, lips quirking. "Yeah, Bucky's okay.  Actually, he's why I'm here."

"How do you mean?"

"Tony came down a while ago. He's okay, probably shouldn't be out of bed, but you know what he's like." Steve told her. "He tried to get Bucky out of the cell. Didn't work, but he mentioned that you might be able to help."

"And he did not come to ask himself?" Wanda's brow raised.

"He's kind of indisposed. He's upstairs doing god knows what. But I wanted to talk to you about it." Steve said, tone softer this time. 

"I'm sure," Wanda nodded with a bit of a half-smile, gesturing to the couches.  "Would you like to take a seat to discuss it?"

Steve inclined his head, and settled on the couch where she gestured. There was a strange kind of comfort that came from just being able to rest for a moment, brief as it would be. "It's a lot to ask, and none of us would think badly of you if you didn't want to."

"Are you actually going to tell me what you need?" She asked, taking the seat across from him.  "Or are you just going to talk around it?"

"Right. Yeah, sorry." Steve said, huffing out an awkward sound, head ducking a little. "You remember when I told you about how they kind of programmed Bucky? We're thinking you might be able to help."

"You mean with his mind." Wanda blinked.  "You want me to fix what they have broken."

Steve nodded slowly. "If you can. Yeah."

"I don't know if I can." Wanda shifted, uncertain, her mouth pressing thin. "I've never used that particular ability to heal."

"I know, but we wouldn't ask if we didn't think there was something else that could work." Steve told her. 

"This was Tony's plan?"

Steve nodded. "Was his idea, yeah."

"And he...believes I can do this?" She fidgeted, fingers splaying over her lap.

"He does." Steve told her. "And so do I, if you're willing, that is."

Wanda smiled again, his words instilling some amount of confidence in her, though it was short lived and quickly consumed by the same doubt and guilt that furrowed her brow.  "Do you know that I am the one that broke Tony's mind? When I showed you all your fears, the things that were most out of reach, I did not touch Tony's mind because I had already ruined him."

Steve's initial reflex to reach out to console her was waylaid momentarily, brows drawing in as he peered at her. "Then what did you show him? If he didn't see what we did, what did you make him see?"

"With you, on the ship, I wanted to scare you. To bring doubt to your mind--of who you were, where you fit, why you were a part of the team. It was meant to make you doubt." Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, gaze straying. "With Tony... I wanted him to hurt."

Steve inclined his head. "Well, we're both guilty of that. But I take it you succeeded?"

"Yes," Wanda let out a long breath. "His mind is not full of the most pleasant thoughts. There is so much fear..."

For a moment, her eyes were distant. It was as if she was hoping to conjure those fears so that she could lay them bare between them. Then her gaze caught Steve's and she sat forward.

"It is not his own death that he's frightened of," she said. "It is yours. To stand at the edge of destruction and know he failed to save you. To save us. While the world fell to ashes because of the Chitauri, he watched you die, and his mind screamed."

Steve fell still for a long moment, expression drawing in as something like guilt crept up on him. He shook his head, slow, as if to clear it.  

"He saw me? I mean, I know we were closer then, but still. He saw me die?"

"The others were already gone, but yes. You, he watched die. And he could do nothing because his fear made it so." Wanda shook her head. "I do not know how he can think I can use this ability to fix something broken when all I have used it for us to break."

"Just because we can do something, doesn't mean we always will." Steve told her, steady and even as he leaned forward, hands clasped in front of himself, elbows on his knees. "You can use your gifts to make people hurt, but I know you can use them to help too. We aren't made as weapons."

"I just don't understand how you or he can believe that I can accomplish something like this." Wanda frowned.  "I am not unwilling to try.  I just do not wish to make him worse."

"You won't." Steve said. "I know you won't."

"You have such faith in me?"

"Of course I do." Steve did not hesitate.

"And," she shifted, tentative. "Do you think Tony does?"

"He wouldn't haven't suggested it if he didn't think you could do it." Steve said. 

Wanda nodded again; slower. "I would like him to be there then. Whenever this happens."

Steve hesitated for a second, and then nodded. "Yeah, yeah sure.  He can be there. Probably best, actually. If something goes wrong, I'd like him to be there."

"When were you hoping to do this?" 

"Soon, I hope. Whenever Bucky's willing." Steve said. "He's not too sold on the idea; I'm not sure if he thinks anyone can help.”

"He's in a dark place.  He thinks he's made only for destruction." Wanda tilted her head a bit, casting Steve an almost playful look, the tips of her fingers lighting up in red.  "Which is something I can certainly relate to." 

Steve's lips twitched up, watching the red around her fingertips with some amusement, but he sobered again after a moment. "I know you think like that.  I won't believe it for a second, but I know you do."

Wanda let the light dance for a second longer before dropping her hands primly to her lap.  Her gaze grew distant again.  She looked so young, sitting there like that, her hair up in a messy knot, in nothing but yoga pants and a t-shirt that must have been her brother’s judging by the size of it.  Twisting her fingers together, she looked back to Steve, offering up that small smile once again.

“I would like to try this for you,” Wanda said.  “I would like to try and help Bucky.  When can we start?”

"Soon, I hope." Steve told her. "As soon as you're ready. It shouldn't take much to convince Bucky to try. I know he wants to fix it."

"Soon, then." Wanda nodded. "Was that all you needed?"

Steve nodded once, but made no move to get up just yet. "You don't have to do this."

"I know.  I want to."

"Okay. Alright. Just so long as you're sure." Steve said.

"Do you think we could try tomorrow?" Wanda asked as Steve stood. "And... I would like if Vision could also accompany us."

Steve paused for a moment, and then nodded. "If you think he'd help, then by all means."

"He," she hesitated, cheeks coloring. "I find him very grounding."

Steve couldn't help the smile that lit up his expression. "Grounding. I'm sure."

Lips pursed, she gestured to the door.  "If you're done?"

Steve huffed out a little laugh, turning to leave, shooting her an amused look as he made his way back to the elevator. 


	13. Chapter 12: Beast of Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic fixes everything.

Morning found Tony slumped over his couch, breathing in soft and slow, propped back on an obscene amount of pillows.  His hair was a floppy mess, hanging in his eyes; though they were closed, lashes thick and fanning over his cheeks.  He looked near beautiful, lax and at peace in a drug induced slumber, lips slightly parted and clothes rumpled with sleep.  One leg was hanging off of the edge of the couch, and his right hand was splayed over his chest, over the cotton of his t-shirt, just shy of where his arc reactor used to rest.

On the coffee table projecting a slow rotation of the Earth, scattered with digital markings and notes Tony had been making into the early hours of dawn, was a large but half-full glass of water and a prescription bottle that Happy had delivered sometime after Steve had left Tony to his own devices and before Tony had fallen to the sway of sleep.   It lay open, some of the pills spilled onto the glass tabletop.  Tony had honestly waited far too long to take the dose in the first place and had fumbled for relief once it had arrived.  Across from him, head tipped back and mouth open in a wide snore, Happy sat in a plush chair, fast asleep.

It was well past first light by the time Tony even stirred.  It wasn’t until FRIDAY announced that there was someone coming up the elevator that he finally edged beyond the haze and into a rather woozy state of consciousness.  He was slow onto his feet and even slower across the suite floor, hand careful against his left side.

The elevator stopped with a _ding_ and the doors slid open.  Finding Wanda and Vision inside, Tony blinked once and frowned.

“Am I in trouble?”

Vision was instantly drifting off his feet and to Tony’s side, hand taking Tony’s elbow.  “You are still far too early in recovery to be on your feet.”

“Well, the hospital would’ve given me a wheelchair, but they didn’t exactly know I was checking myself out.” Tony muttered.

Wanda paced in, stopping tentative before him.  “For a man so smart, you frequently make incredibly dim decisions.”

Tony smiled.  “I like a little variety in life.”

With a sigh, Wanda reached for him, taking his other arm with delicate fingers.  “Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

“Though he probably shouldn’t,” Vision said, peering over the top of Tony’s head at her. 

“I’m fine,” Tony insisted.

“Fine enough to accompany us down to the Hulk Tank?” Wanda asked.

Tony faltered, head pressing back so that he could blink at her.  She stared back, patient and quiet, her fingers firming at his arm. 

“Steve talked to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me there?”

“It was your idea,” Wanda replied.  “You believe that I can do it.  I want you there.”

“Wanda finds security in having those with faith in her present,” Vision added, even as Wanda’s cheeks turned pink, and she cast him a dirty look.  “Captain Rogers trusts in her, but she already knew that.  Your faith in her is important, Tony.”

Warmth fluttered and unfurled under Tony’s breastbone. 

“Viz,” Wanda warned.

His mouth twitched.  “Shall we go?”

Tony hardly had a chance to refuse.  Not that he would have. 

* * *

 

The way down to the Hulk Tank was quiet.  Vision kept hold of Tony the entire time, and Tony found the hand at his elbow left something in his chest aching.  He let Vision guide him out of elevator upon arriving in the subbasement level, Wanda trailing at their side, and relaxed at the sight of Steve sitting at the edge of the cot that had been delivered and the mess of scattered pizza boxes.  Bucky was in the tank, back to the glass, curled up on the bed installed into the far wall. 

Steve looked their way and stood, coming instantly to attention upon their entry.  He nodded first to Wanda and Vision before his focus settled on Tony.

“Captain,” Tony greeted, voice a bit rougher than it had been the day before.

Steve regarded Tony, giving a tentative smile and a nod, before he reached over and tapped the glass soft with the backs of his knuckles.  From the bed in the tank, Bucky rolled over to look at his visitors, expression twisting up for a moment before he got to his feet.  His shoulders were tight; tension wrought every inch of him to a taut wariness.  His eyes found Wanda quickly, narrowing a little as she drew closer.

"I suppose this means it's time."

"Jesus, you sound like we're here to carry out your death sentence," Tony grunted.

"I've seen perkier execution squads." Bucky retorted, sharp as he looked Tony's way.

Steve let out a soft sigh. "Bucky, come on.  It'll be okay."

"Now is not the time for bickering," Vision interceded. "For this to be successful, Wanda must focus on the trial at hand."

Without a word, Wanda smiled his way, edging closer to the glass. Vision dipped his head, almost regal, and gazed at her with nothing but encouragement.

"You don't have to do this." Bucky said, meeting Wanda's eyes as she approached the tank, keeping a healthy distance from the door. 

"Bucky, we already--"

"Just shut up a minute, okay?" Bucky snapped, shooting Steve a look. "She doesn't have to go poking around in my head if she doesn't want to. Hell knows it's a mess up there."

Wanda lifted one delicate brow.  "I have been in minds far worse than yours."

Behind her, Tony's gaze dropped to his own feet. He wiggled his toes; in nothing but socks.

Bucky didn't look too convinced, pinning her with a look before he moved closer again. Something like trepidation pounded in his chest, but he didn't let himself hope, crushing the occasional flutter.

"Alright,” he said after a moment.  “Alright, fine. It's worth a shot, if you think you can do it."

"Not through this glass," she tapped her knuckles against it.

Without any other indication the doors slid open.

Bucky took another step away from the glass.  His eyes darted to Steve for a moment, some of his initial panic fading when Steve moved up into the cell behind Wanda. 

"It'll be okay, Buck." He said, even and steady, like he knew exactly where Bucky's mind was going. "You won't hurt us. Between me and Tony, we'll be okay."

Tony finally blinked up from his feet. At his side Vision squeezed his elbow and urged him closer to the cell. 

Clearing his throat when Bucky glanced his way, Tony gave a reassuring nod. "What he said."

Bucky huffed out a little sound, shoulders squaring off as he looked down at Wanda, fingers fidgeting at his sides. "I don't know what you're going to find in there."

"I think, perhaps, it would be best if we sit." Wanda gestured to his empty cot and the unrumpled sheets.

Bucky hesitated for a moment before he followed, settling down on the cot stiffly.  He left space for her, watching Wanda as she followed him down. She settled, tentative, adjusting her skirt. They waited until Steve filed into the room and Vision guided Tony in after him.

Once everyone was in their place, she focused on Bucky, offering both of her hands palm up to him.  Bucky eyed her, fingers twitching at his sides, like he was going to raise his hands, but thought better of it.

"Do you want me to...?"

"Give me your hands?" Wanda smiled.  "Yes."

After a moment, Bucky complied, raising his hands to rest them in hers gently, the plates of his left hand recalibrating with the gesture. Shifting, Wanda rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes. Beneath Bucky's palms there was a flare of heat and the red burned at the tips of her fingers, wrapping slow swirls around his wrists and trailing along down the lines of the backs of his hands.

Bucky flinched, but didn't move his hands just yet.  His expression pinched in as red light seeped over his fingers, slowly crawling up his arms. He breathed out a short sound, tensing as the light drew in closer to him, head tilting as if he might be able to escape it. 

"You need to relax," Wanda muttered, fingers twitching against the heels of his palms. "It will be hard.  But take a deep breath and relax."

Bucky's brows furrowed, and he cast a quick glance to where Steve stood. Heaving out a sigh, he nodded.  "Okay. Alright. Do it.”

"That," Wanda cracked an eye. "Is not relaxing."

Bucky shot her an exasperated look, and then closed his eyes. There was a moment, and then some of the tension in his frame faded, expression going lax as he tried to let himself go easy under Wanda’s touch. 

Without a word, Wanda closed her eyes again. The flow and twitch of red danced higher and higher--over his chest, up his neck, and sinking into his skin at his temples.

There was a moment.  Then Wanda's eyes flew open, irises red and glowing in the bright lights of the cell.

The tank fell silent save for the low _thrum_ of energy, pulsing as red light filled the cell. As the minutes ticked by, Steve grew restless, shifting on his feet as he watched the occasional twitch run over Bucky's body, red light surging and ebbing. 

“Are we sure about this?” Steve finally croaked.

Vision nodded.  “She can do this, Captain Rogers.  Of that, I assure you.  You just need give it time.”

Steve nodded, throat working, glancing first to him and then to Tony.  Tony dipped his head, smile small but reassuring.  Steve nodded again.

“Okay.  We give it time.”

* * *

 

The silence in the tank was broken by a shuddering gasp.  It was heavy and abrupt as Bucky reeled back, breath coming in short and sharp gasps as the light around his temples started to fade away.  His eyes were glazed over as he came to, crimson fading from the blue of his irises, staring ahead at seemingly nothing, body lurching with each ragged breath. 

From where Steve had settled against the glass, he leaned forward, jaw tight, eyes on the pair of them.  There was a tension over the cell, all eyes trained on Bucky, none of them sure what to expect.  Tony flapped a hand from where he’d settled on the floor, and Vision took it, helping him to his feet with careful guidance.

Wanda slowly retracted her hands, eyeing Bucky with some wariness. Her breath had become labored and there was a fine tremor to her fingers and sweat at her brow.  She glanced, quickly and quietly, to Tony and Vision before wetting her lips and reaching out and up.

"Bucky?" She asked, fingers brushing just shy of his cheek.

He started at the contact, the cell around him coming into focus as his vision cleared.  Slowly, Bucky flexed his fingers, a strange kind of sensation creeping over him, like sparked wires and false connections.  It was unlike anything he'd felt, and for a moment, Bucky let himself go in the sensation, leaning back as he looked down at his own hands, as if he might be able to find some radical difference in them.

There was a steady ache behind his eyes, oppressive and heavy as he came to, eyes searching until he found Tony.

"I need you to-- you gotta make sure it worked.  I know you know the words."

Tony swallowed, exchanging a look with Steve.  "You sure?"

"Does it have to be that way?" Steve asked, jaw working. "Does he have to do that to you?"

"I'm not going to know if it worked until I hear them." Bucky said, expression twisting in something like distaste and fear and hope, all at once, glancing briefly at Steve. 

There was a tightness around Tony’s eyes as he stepped away from Vision and toward the two of them.  He hesitated, shifting on his feet.

"I don't have the best accent."

"Neither did Ross.  Still worked."  Bucky said, looking up at Tony. "Just get it over with?"

"Right," Tony cleared his throat.  “желание.  Ржaвый.  Семнадцать.”

The cadence and pace of the words moved over him with an eerie familiarity.  Cold fear clawed at his gut, more reflex than anything else. 

“Рассвет. Печь.  Девять.”

The ache behind Bucky's eyes intensified until he had to squeeze them shut, hands reaching up to clutch his head, as if it might alleviate the pain.  He thought he heard Steve call out to him, thought he heard Steve tell Tony to stop.  Tony didn’t.

“добросердечный.  возвращение на родину.  Один.” Tony sucked in a breath.  “грузовой вагон.”

Bucky went still.  Something in his mind clicked, hollow, and echoing, like misfiring pins and for a long moment, Bucky didn’t breathe. 

No one did.

When he finally looked up again, something seemed to lift from over him.  His shoulders straightened, and he sat up, as if he had been dragged free of a great weight.  Bucky's hands shook as he took them down from around his head, confusion rife on his face as he looked around the tank.

And then he was grinning.  Elated beyond belief, manic, almost.  He rose to his feet smoothly, gaze intent on Tony.  

"Again. Do it again."

Brows drawing together, Tony took another step forward, repeating the words with a bit more insistency.  With each word, Bucky stepped closer, his smile so broad it looked like it might hurt.  He didn’t stop until he finished “freight car” and Bucky’s hands were clasping at Tony’s shoulders.

Bucky huffed out a shaky sound, something overwhelmingly like relief coursing through him, shuddering with the force of it. With a frantic kind of energy, he turned to Wanda, awe spread over his expression as he moved into her space, pulling her in as the sheer weight of it all hit him.  He pulled her off her feet without meaning to, squeezing her tight.

"You-- God, you did it.  It worked.  It  _worked."_

Stiffening in his hold, Wanda blinked a few times before wrapping her arms around him. A soft smile graced her mouth as she smoothed her hands down over his back, feeling faint tremors there.

He held her for a long moment.  His shoulders were shaking as he pulled back, breath ragged in his throat as he tried to tamp down on the release of it all, eyes bloodshot as he swallowed around a lump in his throat.

"I don't-- I can't--  _Thank yo_ _u_."

"I think that qualifies as a thank you,” Wanda replied, voice light. "I am... relieved it worked. I had had my doubts."

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, taking his hands off her shoulders. 

"I am fine, Bucky." Wanda assured, then looked to where Vision lingered.

She did not say a word, but he was at her side in an instant. He offered his hand and she took it.

"You were magnificent," he said.

Bucky cleared his throat a little, glancing away like he was looking at something he shouldn’t, but there was something soft and at ease in his expression that hadn’t been there in far too long.  As he looked away, he caught Steve’s gaze, smile going crooked.  He took one stilted step forward.  Then another.

Steve met him somewhere in the middle.  He wrapped Bucky up in his arms, holding him close.  Bucky buried his face against the side of Steve’s neck.  One of Steve’s hands came up to rest at Bucky’s nape as metal fingers clutched at his shoulder.  Bucky took shelter in his arms, the rush of it all, the _relief_ of it all almost too overwhelming.

He pulled back after a moment, rubbing a hand over his face, voice a little rough when he laughed—a bit embarrassed and a lot exhausted.  His eyes were wet.  “Making a mess of myself and it ain’t even midday.”

“Close enough," Steve smiled down at him, bright and relieved and overjoyed.

"What, really?" Bucky asked, brows furrowing in. "How long was I out for?"

"An hour," Steve shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe more."

"Ninety-two minutes," Tony said, from his spot on the edges. "Give or take a couple of seconds."

Bucky looked over at him, offering a shaky little smile. "Not that you were counting, right?"

"Had to occupy my time," Tony shrugged.

"Didn't feel like that long." Bucky said, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

"The mind is a puzzle," Vision spoke. "What was but a moment to you was far longer to us. The relativity of it is fascinating."

At Steve's raised brow, Vision seemed chided. His head dipped; his smile was small.

"Though perhaps not to everyone."

Wanda's fingers squeezed at his.  He looked to her, and then raised her hand to the crook of his elbow.

"I believe food is in order," Vision said. "No doubt such an ordeal has left you in need of fuel."

Bucky gave a little nudge to Steve's side, gentle as he made for the tank’s door. "Come on. About time I left, right?"

"Thank fuck." Tony groaned padding out of the cell and into the subbasement.

Bucky rolled his eyes, letting his fingers slip in with Steve's as they made their way out of the tank.  Bucky paused just outside, hesitating for a second before he bent to the scrap of dark blue fabric Tony had left on the floor the day previous.  He pinned Tony with a look, raising a brow as he held it out to him.

"Put it back on."

Almost owlishly, Tony stared up at him.  "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously, " Bucky said, a little short as he shoved the sling at Tony. "I'm not dragging your ass to the hospital later."

"Bucky…"

"What? I'm not." Bucky retorted, not even looking Steve’s way, a little dismissive.

"Please tell me this isn't some weird I scratch your back, you scratch mine, but with, like, health and stuff." Tony frowned, taking the sling, though he did not put it on.  "Also, really can't do this whole sling thing. I've got to get back up to my suite and get ready."

Even Vision shifted uneasily.  "Tony.  I do not think--"

"Some things need to get done," Tony glanced his way. "No rest for the wicked."

"I swear to god Stark, don't make me follow you home." Bucky said, moving in a little closer to him, tugging Steve along with him. "Put it back on. Rest."

"Sure will," Tony said, backing up slightly, angling toward the elevator. "After the press conference."

"The what?" Steve asked, head tilted to match the curious, but ultimately judgmental stare Bucky was giving Tony. 

"Press conference," Tony repeated, balling the sling up between his hands, movements a bit stilted but sure. "Not sure if you noticed, but there's a lot going on right now. We have to address Barnes' shiny new badge of freedom--did I mention you were acquitted of all charges?-- and his new clean bill of mental health.  Plus, hey, I've got a bunch of international fugitives living under my roof that everyone is now aware of but can't do anything about, but my stocks are still taking a dip, and Pepper doesn't do well without those hefty CEO paychecks."

"Tony," Wanda's lips pursed. "What do you mean they know but can't do anything?"

"I didn't convert three floors into political and intergalactic conference rooms for no reason," Tony said.  "As long as you're in this building, you can't be touched. Think of it as political asylum or a sanctuary or whatever. Thanks to some maneuvering on T'Challa's, mine, and my lawyer's part, until I get the Accords appealed or addendumed—if that’s even a word-- you're safe here."

Bucky let out a sigh, expression falling. "Tony, come on. You can't. You can't just keep going right now, okay?"

"It's not like we're ungrateful." Steve interjected. "You've done more for us than we can ever possibly make up for, but you gotta take a break."

"It's a press conference, not a fight to the death." Tony gestured between them, brows up. "I've done them in much worse shape than this."

"I know you have." Steve said. "But just, take a few days?"

Tony took a breath, looking to his right, jaw winding tight.  "Fine.  It's Wednesday.  I'll set it for Friday."

"No use in bleeding out all over the press." Bucky said, letting a hand fall onto Tony's right shoulder as he passed.  "Come on, let’s go."

Tony glanced down at his hand, brow shooting up. "I think I'll take a raincheck."

Bucky looked like he was going to protest, but ultimately gave up, a soft sound passing his lips as he drew his hand away. "Alright. Suit yourself."

Face twitching, Tony seemed to rock slightly toward him, then thought better of it.  "Nothing against the company," his eyes strayed to Steve, to Wanda, to Vision.  "Just not interested in whatever Barton might be trying to cook up for lunch."

"Can't argue with that." Bucky said, offering Tony a smile, softer, more genuine than the expression might usually have been. 

Tony replied with a nod if his head. Gesturing to the elevator with the sling in one hand, he stepped away.

"I'll just go rest then."

Vision straightened. "May I be of any assistance?"

"No," Tony shook his head.  "I think I can handle an elevator ride by myself."

Bucky didn’t miss the way that wrinkle formed between Steve’s eyebrows—the one that Bucky had been on the receiving end of more than once back in the Howling Commandos days—but Steve’s mouth pressed thin as he swallowed back whatever he might’ve said as Tony climbed into the elevator in front of them.  Bucky did not even glance back at the tank as he filed in behind Wanda and Vision.  His fingers tightened in Steve’s.  They shared a small smile. 

* * *

 

The ride up was quiet.  When the doors opened, Bucky and Steve were the ones to step out first.  Wanda hesitated.

Turning to Tony, she set a hand on his arm.  "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Having faith that I could help." Wanda leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "It meant the world."

Eyes wide, Tony swallowed once and nodded. "Anytime."

With a soft smile, she departed, and the doors slid shut behind her.

Tony stood there for a moment, still and alone, in the dim light of the elevator. He looked down at the sling in his hand, hesitating before shoving it into the pocket of the sweats he'd fallen asleep in and reaching out to press the button for his suite. The elevator slid into motion, and he leaned back against the far wall.

When he reached his floor, he was still dazed. Gaze on his feet, he made his way out of the lift and into his suite. He only looked up at the soft sound of movement, faltering as he saw Happy seated at the kitchen table before the vast bay of windows overlooking the city, and the sight of the man standing before it.

Though he was a bit dirty and a bit more rough around the edges, hair greyed at the temples, smile crooked, concern wrinkled between his brows, Tony wouldn't have mistaken him anywhere.

"Bruce," he breathed.

"Tony," he dipped his head. "I heard you nearly died. Again."

"Were you worried?"

Bruce held out his hands, then wrung them together in front of himself. "Think I'd be here if I wasn't?"

Tony's mouth twitched. His eyes burned. "It's good to see you."

Bruce wavered, then he padded down the small rise between kitchen, bar, and dining area to where Tony stood at the edges of his own home. He held out his hand, and Tony took it, letting Bruce take his weight with a shuddering sigh.

"Let's get you cleaned up and in bed." Bruce said. "Happy said you've had quite the adventure."

"Probably nothing compared to yours."

"Probably."

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Of course.”

Without another word, Tony let himself be lead from the living area and back towards his rooms, Bruce's hand a steadying presence at his back.

* * *

 

Steve didn't think he'd ever be so happy to see the inside of his suite. It had been a long week, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and not rise for at least ten hours. It had taken a little longer to get back home than he'd have ideally liked. Although, he couldn't begrudge Bucky the time around people to try and adjust to whatever it was that Wanda had done. 

It had all happened so quickly that Steve still wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but he couldn't deny how happy he was to finally see Bucky free from Hydra's control. The change had been almost instantaneous, as if just the knowledge that no one could make him do things ever again brought him peace. So much so, that from the moment they stepped into the common area, Natasha had her eyes trained on him. Steve hadn't been able to catch much of their conversation but the quiet smile Natasha gave as she passed to leave told him it was nothing untoward.

Sam had passed by, long enough to touch base, a smile lighting up his expression, relieved as Steve filled him in on the details. It was enough to make Steve forget the disaster they'd all just come out of, to forget the impending one that hung over them all, if only for a short time. For now, they were safe.

Steve heard the elevator door close behind them, letting out a soft sigh as he glanced back at Bucky, something warm unfolding in his chest. "How're you feeling?"

Bucky smiled at him, just the faintest upturn of his lips as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Great, maybe. Head doesn't hurt anymore. Can't imagine Wanda's feeling too crash hot; she looked beat."

"She did," Steve nodded. "But she's a tough girl. Been through far worse."

"Was still a lot for her to do for someone like me." Bucky said. "Don't know how I'm going to repay her."

"She likes music. Homemade gifts." Steve offered. "She's got a thing about birds."

Bucky hummed out a little sound of consideration. "Guess I can work with that."

"You know," Steve stepped close. "She's not the only one we need show our gratitude toward.”

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Bucky said, letting him get in close without any resistance. "We owe him so much.  _I_  owe him so much. I'm a free man because of what he did."

"From the looks of it, we all will be soon." Steve huffed, suddenly so winded just at the thought. "He's done--christ, he got shot. All because he thought he needed to make things right."

"Above and beyond." Bucky said. "I don't care what he tells me, man’s got a heart of gold."

"Heart of gold," Steve muttered, reaching out, fingers tentative against the cool metal of Bucky's arm; the subtle, sweet thrum of energy coursing through it giving it a faint but present heat. "Certainly something like that."

Bucky made no move to shy away from the touch, arm shifting just so under Steve's fingers. He let his other hand come to rest against Steve's hip, idle and without intent. "We're gonna have to make it up to him somehow."

"After all of this is over, we will." Steve nodded. "I will. I think--I think he believes I don't care.  I think he thinks I hate him."

Bucky made a soft sound, frowning. "I know. But, he'll see, I know he'll see."

"You want him to?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Bucky asked. 

"I don't know," Steve breathed, hand ghosting down Bucky's arm, mouth curving as metal fingers seemed to twitch. "But I want him to, too."

There was a quiet whir as Bucky turned his hand over to catching Steve's fingers, lacing their hands together, giving him a tug to get him moving again, further into their suite. "It'll be okay. It'll turn out."

Steve nodded again, trailing after him, closer to him, until their foreheads touched. "I'm so happy you're-- Buck, I'm so happy for you."

Bucky huffed out a little sound, catching in his throat as he pressed in close. "Feels surreal. Like I'm gonna wake up in a second and be back where I was."

"Bucky." Steve took him by the back of his neck ay the base of his head, eyes catching his. "No one can ever make you do anything again. No one.  You're your own man."

Bucky swallowed thickly, breath catching as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Steve searched his face for a long moment, then leaned in, lips slanting slow over Bucky's.  The hand Bucky had rested on Steve's hip slid around to drag up the line of his back, head tilting up just so to meet Steve's lips, fingers flexing in his. 

They parted for a moment.  Between one breath and the next, their lips met again, and they shuffled easily back toward Steve's room without another word, disappearing beyond the threshold.


	14. Chapter 13: The World at Large

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People just keep coming out of the woodwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early because I'll be in a plane all day tomorrow. <3

It was well into the afternoon by the time Natasha saw Bucky the next day. She didn't have to look to know it was him; could hear him coming from a mile away, which she knew he likely did for the same reasons she did. She was sitting, perched at the edges of the track that looped around the gym floor from above, peering down at the mats as Steve ran Sam and Scott through some drills, Clint at his side, more for comic relief than moral support as he'd claimed. Scott kept rising to the bait.

Bucky slid into place next to her in a smooth move, legs dangling, and she looked his way out of her periphery before focusing back on the drills being run down below.  Resting her chin on her arms where they were crossed over one of the metal beams of the railing, Natasha nudged at Bucky's boot with her sneaker.

"Nice hair," she said.

She caught the movement of him touching human fingers to the sloppy bun at the back of his head out of the corner of her eye. "Thanks."

"New look for your new leaf?" she asked.

Bucky huffed out a little laugh, and shook his head, draping his arms over the beam in front of them, his movements relaxed; easy. "Nah. Just keeps it out of my eyes."

Natasha hummed. "You look better."

"I feel better." Bucky told her, glancing her way briefly. "Don't know how long that's going to last, but I'll take what I can get."

"Pretty decent way to handle such a drastic change," Natasha's face shrugged.  "You're not gonna fall off your rocker, are you?"

Bucky laughed before he could stop himself; a rough sound. "Well. I haven't yet, and I like to think the worst of it is over. I think I'll be okay."

"Yeah," she finally regarded him full on, eyes lit with mirth. "I think so too."

Bucky shifted a little, nudging at her shoulder with his own, good natured as he returned his attention to the others in the gym, watching them work with idle interest. 

They watched Scott fumbled through the hand to hand, and Natasha snorted as Clint moved to adjust Scott's stance--though he pushed his feet just shy of too far apart.  Scott ended up on his back on the mats again. Clint glanced up to the rafters, catching Natasha's gaze.  She waved him off with a roll of her eyes.

"He never moved beyond the hazing phase," she said. "It was his favorite thing about new recruits."

Bucky's lips quirked at the exchange. "I'd best keep that in mind next time I'm training."

"You gonna start training with the rest of us?" Natasha lifted a brow. "We could really use your skill. On and off the field."

Bucky hesitated for a moment, shoulders stiffening a little. "I don't know. I think I've taught enough people to be like me already."

"So no more sparring sessions with the resident genius?"

"That's different. We're just messing around." Bucky said evenly. 

"Is that what you're calling it?" her mouth twitched.

At his silence, almost a pensive quiet, she shifted and cleared her throat.

"Not like it matters right now anyway." Natasha shrugged. "He might've snuck out of the hospital, but he won't be up for any training anytime soon."

"He better not be." Bucky said, a little gruff. 

Natasha passed him a dry look. "Don't put it past him. I'm sure he's up in his room planning right now. Or on his lab."

"I've got no doubt he is." Bucky said. "He was trying to get a conference together yesterday."

Natasha made a soft sound. "That sounds like him. He's done it before."

"Really?"

"During one of SHIELD’s first interactions with him, he was fresh off of the plane from Afghanistan, with a sling and a bag of hamburgers." Natasha nodded. "Came back from hell and held a press conference. It's kind of his thing."

Bucky whistled out a soft sound. "I shouldn't be as surprised as I am."

"You really shouldn't."

"He's an idiot." Bucky said, something into oddly fond in his tone. 

Natasha stared at him, a quiet smile on her face.

Bucky shot her a look, before he huffed out a little sigh. "You seen him yet today?"

"Haven't seen him since the hospital," she shook her head. "Though Happy has been...happy to keep me updated since I found him flirting with the receptionist in the lobby. Haven't heard anything today. Which is generally a good thing."

"Means he might actually be resting," Bucky said, pausing for a second. "Or it could mean he's gone to the Pentagon or something again and hasn't told anyone."

Natasha's nose wrinkled.

"You don't think...?"

"I wouldn't put it past him." Bucky said, getting to his feet with a tired sound. 

"Going to check on him?"

Bucky nodded. "Someone's gotta."

"Would you like company?"

Bucky looked over her, and then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

* * *

 

When they reached Tony's floor, the doors slid open and music poured into the elevator.  It was some lazy rock tune that Natasha couldn't place, but she stepped into the vast suite anyway, only stopping short upon seeing Tony.

He had his shirt rucked up under his armpits, revealing tan skin and scars and stitches from his most recent escapade. Large hands were on his sides, holding him steady and checking the entry wound, as the man kneeled between Tony's legs where he was sat on the edge of the couch. 

Bucky choked out an undignified sound, reeling back when he caught sight of Tony. Something cold like embarrassment washed over him.

"Jesus christ, Stark. Warn a guy if you've got fucking company."

Tony's closed eyes fluttered open, and his brow drew up. "I've got fucking company."

Deft fingers smoothed a new bandage over Tony's side before helping him pull his shirt back down. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"I'm hilarious," Tony practically pouted.

Natasha blinked.  "Bruce?"

He glanced over, furtive, and then pushed to his feet. "Nat. You look--It's nice, uh. To see you."

Bucky pulled a face, unamused as he wandered further inside, eyeing the man who had previously been somewhere between Tony's legs with some suspicion.  "Banner, right?"

Bruce bobbed his head a bit acknowledgement, but his eyes were for Natasha. "Yes. Barnes, I'm assuming?"

Bucky glanced at Natasha, her expression dangerously unreadable, and raised a brow before he looked back to Banner. "Yeah, he's me."

"Right," Bruce looked his way, padding forward to hold out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Bucky eyed him again, and then extended a hand to greet him. "Likewise."

"When did you get back?" Natasha asked.

"Yesterday," Bruce looked to her again. "I heard about--" he made a vague gesture over his shoulder toward Tony.  "Well."

"The courtroom incident." Bucky finished, looking Bruce over.

"That," Bruce held his gaze, almost pointedly.

"Easy, big guy." Tony grunted, pushing up from the couch with a wince.

"Sit back down," Bruce sighed, pulling his glasses off and pressing his wrist to his brow. "Could you stay still? For, like, five minutes?"

"I've been trying to get him to stay still for days." Bucky said, a little flat. 

"Only after trying to get him killed of course," Bruce snapped his way.

" _Bruce_.”

Mouth thinning, Bruce looked back to Tony again. Rubbing a hand along his jaw, he grimaced and cast his gaze down to his feet.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Guess I don't have much room to talk."

Bucky flinched back, seeming to shrink as he looked away. "No. No, you're right. I did."

"Buck," Tony said with a tight exasperation.  "Don't. It's fine. I'm fine."

Natasha shifted at Bucky's side. "You _should_ be resting, though."

"Nat, just the expert I needed." Tony gestured to her, jumping on a chance to change the subject. "I need to hide some...blemishes for the press conference. Your skills were very helpful on my birthday."

Bucky shifted on his feet, the line of his shoulders taut. "I guess it's not a good look."

Natasha shot Bucky a look, but said nothing before nodding toward Tony. "I can help."

"Good. Thank you. Does anyone want a drink? I could use one."

"Absolutely _not_ ," Bruce's gaze jerked up.

"Bad luck to drink alone." Bucky said, looking at Tony pointedly. 

"Okay, so aside from the tag team effort by Rocky and Bullwinkle here to kill any and all possible fun I could have while on prescription drugs, what's up with the visitation hours?" Tony gestured between Bucky and Natasha with two fingers.

"Didn't think this was a hospital." Bucky replied.

"That's really not an answer."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "We're here to make sure you didn't slip and fall and start bleeding out."

"Did you get me a _Get Well Soon_ card too?"

"You didn't get the flowers?" Bucky retorted, droll as he raised his brows. 

"Can't say I did," Tony's mouth curved into a lazy smile.  "Yellow roses?"

"Yeah, they were real nice." Bucky shot back. 

"Thoughtful."

A wrinkle formed between Natasha's brows.  "Are you two done?"

"I'm done when he is." Bucky shrugged. 

"What does me being done entail, exactly?"

Bucky shrugged again, arms coming to fold over his chest. "Haven't decided yet."

"Bruce, babe," Tony gestured to the elevator, eyes flitting away from Bucky. "You said if I checked out we could head down to the lab."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You just don't give up, do you?"

"No, not really."

Bruce's shoulders drew down heavy. "It's better than him going stir crazy and breaking things."

"I don't break things," Tony was already limping toward the lift. "I take them apart."

"He gets bored." Natasha muttered.

"Definitely seemed like breaking to me." Bucky said flatly, turning to watch Tony as he brushed by.

Tony waved a hand his way, jaw flexing with the motion.  "Are we going?"

"I never said you checked out." Bruce said.

"Well, why don't you tell me all the ways I don't on the way down? I revamped the shared lab and haven't had a chance to use it since--" Tony glanced over at him.  "Well."

Natasha snorted, indelicate and sharp. Tony's gaze flit from her, to Bruce, and back again.

"Unless you'd like to stay here. Catch up. Tell everyone about your misadventures."

Bucky huffed out a short sound and glanced Bruce's way, finding discomfort in his stance and the way he glanced around. He knew that look too personally to leave Banner there alone.  He turned to follow after Tony, despite or perhaps to spite the way Tony’s nose wrinkled at his hovering.  Bruce and Natasha were not far behind.

"There's another lab in this place?"

"There's, like, six floors of R&D labs." Tony grunted, pressing the down button to trigger the doors open.  "But yes. There's also another private lab. I just haven't used it in a while."

Bruce's lips thinned as he padded over to stand at Tony's side, placing a hand at his back and muttering something inaudible that Tony scoffed at. When Bucky glanced her way, Natasha gestured with her chin toward the opening lift.

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky murmured.

He followed after them, metal fingers closing on the elevator doors before they could close. He moved to stand in the elevator, silent in an almost uncomfortable and obtrusive kind of way. 

Tony blinked up at him as Bucky settled against one of the side panels. He squinted, mouth opening, before he caught sight of Natasha stepping in after him. Head canting over, Tony lifted a brow, which she answered with one of her own.

"Ignoring the big, green elephant in the room," Tony said even as Bruce covered his eyes with a hand. "This isn't a guilt thing, is it?"

"What isn't?" Natasha asked.

"The overbearing mother double team," Tony jerked a thumb toward Bruce. "I get enough of that already. Not counting the amount of times Happy has tried to _carry_ me, or the number of threatening voicemails and texts from Pep and Rhodey."

Chin tilting up, Natasha's mouth twitched.  "How are they?"

"Mad that I snuck out. They were both here this morning."

"There was a lot of yelling." Bruce added.

Natasha glanced at him. "I'm sure you loved that."

Chagrined, Bruce glanced down at his feet. Tony squeezed at his shoulder.

"Pepper set up the press conference for me."

"Nice of her."

"It took some nagging. Maybe a guilt trip or two." Tony turned, as if to tell Bruce a secret. "She broke my heart, you know."

"When's it set for?" Bucky asked, shifting towards the back of the elevator, too crowded for his comfort. 

"Tomorrow morning," Tony said.

Bucky fell silent for a second before he grunted quietly. "At least it’s not yesterday."

"Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"It wouldn't have killed me to do it yesterday."

Bruce winced.  "You pulled two stitches."

Bucky looked over at Bruce. "Oh, really?"

"Admittedly, it's in a delicate area where most movement pulls at the skin." Bruce grunted when Tony nudged him. "And it could've easily happened in his sleep."

"See?" Tony's grin was sharp.

"In his sleep, my ass." Bucky grumbled, unimpressed as he looked at Tony. "You're gonna send me prematurely grey, you know that?"

"You're not gonna make me repeat my question, are you?"

"Memory like a sieve, right?" Bucky retorted. "But no. I can remember that one just fine."

"And yet here you are, not answering it."

"Why the hell do you think I'm here?" Bucky asked, brows drawing in. 

"Guilt."

Bucky expression screwed up, and for a second he thought Tony was joking. "I think we both know this isn't how I deal with that."

Nose wrinkling, Tony huffed and looked away. "Yeah, fine.  Just...stop hovering."

Bucky huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh if it wasn't for the bitterness that tainted it. "Fine."

"You're _actually_ children." Natasha looked between the two of them.

Bucky frowned at her. "Not my fault he's an idiot."

"I'm sorry. _I'm_ the idiot?" Tony straightened. "Who decided to leave the confined safety of this building and _got caught_ after _years_ of laying low? What happened? You get a little rusty at hiding?"

"Tony," Bruce put a hand on Tony’s chest.

Bucky let out a sigh, recalcitrant. "You damn well know what happened. I know it was stupid, and I know it was reckless, but you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same."

"Yes, I can." Tony nodded. "Because I wouldn't have."

Bucky snorted out an indelicate sound. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you wouldn't have. Same way you only invite international fugitives into your house for personal gain."

"Exactly."

"You're a lying piece of shit, you know that, Stark." Bucky shot back. 

Tony's face shrugged. "Not the first time someone's called me that."

The elevator doors slid open to the lab. It was vast, glass, and overlooked the common area from above. Even the floors were glass, revealing a floor below of old work shop Iron Legion bots in sleep mode.

The tension bled out of the lift and into the room.  Like a gas, it expanded to fit the volume.  Tony brushed by Bucky and into the lab, Bruce trailing behind him and glancing furtively from Tony's back to the growing furrow of Bucky's brow.

Bucky paused when the elevator door opened, jerking a little, like he was unsure of weather he wanted to follow. With a quiet huff and a shake of his head he took after Tony.

"I can't tell if you actually think you're a bad person, or if this is some kind of bullshit self-defense thing."

"I'm the Merchant of Death," Tony held his hands out, walking backwards. "There's nothing to bullshit."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Preaching to the choir here, pal."

"No." Tony shook his head, smile sharp and bitter. "No. See, _you_ didn't have a choice."

"Fuck off, Stark." Bucky spat back. "You didn't seem to give a shit about me not having a say in it before, so don't come to me with that shit now."

Tony flinched. He glanced down and away, one hand resting against a glass table top littered with gadgets and gizmos.

There was quiet. Bruce looked like he might say something, and then Tony turned his back and moved to the far panel of windows. Natasha saddled up to Bucky, her shoulder brushing his arm, though she did not say a word.

"You're right." Tony said. "I'm sorry."

Bucky huffed out a quiet sound, tension bleeding from his stance as he felt Natasha brush at his arm again, glancing down at her for a second. He shifted on his feet, eyeing off the elevator for a second, like he wanted to run. He looked back at Tony, something soft in his expression.

"I know you are." Bucky said.  "Me too." 

Tony didn't reply.

Mouth thin, Bruce looked to Natasha. She met his gaze, but he didn't hold it.

Bucky glanced at the door again, at the big metaphorical emergency exit that it was, blew out a breath and turned away.  He took the few steps his longer stride needed and settled beside Tony.  He let a hand fall to rest on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing gently, a halfhearted little smile on his face.

"It's okay. I know."

Tony looked up at him, expression pinched. He didn't say anything, but he returned the tight smile before give one jerked nod. He reached up, hand tentative at Bucky's back before patting once. Bucky seemed to leaned into it and Tony swallowed thick, and they didn't say a word.

* * *

 

The hours dragged by in relative peace, Bucky having long since settled some distance from where Tony was working, keeping an idle eye on him. Natasha and Bruce had left some time ago, leaving Bucky and Tony alone in the relatively comfortable silence of the lab.

Bucky wasn't entirely sure how long it had been, but when he glanced around at the glass walls of the shared lab, he could see people starting to mill around downstairs in the common area. As if on cue, his stomach made a sound of protest.

"How long have we even been up here?"

Tony blinked up from a schematic, looking first to him and then the empty room.

"Um."

"Approximately 267 minutes, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky whistled out a soft sound. "I think we oughta resurface. It's been long enough."

"Sure. Yeah." Tony said, almost absent before he snapped to and pushed to his feet.  "Just...help me take this down to my lab?"

Tony gestured to the boot on the workshop table that he'd been tinkering with off and on, with and without Bruce's input.

Bucky got to his feet without any particular grace, scooping up the boot Tony gestured to and setting it on his shoulder, hardly troubled by the weight. "That wasn't an invitation to lab hop. Food, Tony. You need food."

"Yes, dear. As soon as we get the boot down to my lab."

Bucky grunted a little. "Good. Cause if I don't get something to eat in the next hour, I'm going to eat you."

"Is that a promise?" Tony asked over his shoulder as he made his way to the lift.

"Probably." Bucky retorted. 

Tony scoffed out a laugh.

The ride down was quick and quiet. All of the lights were dimmed upon reaching Tony's lab, and the glass walls were fogged and opaque. Tony walked slow over to the door, hiking up his shirt slightly to check the bandages there, and muttering something about pain killers. The doors slid open.

Inside, the usually harsh fluorescents had been lowered. A lazy rock melody played and a man sat with his back to the door, a glass of scotch in hand. 

Any comfort in Bucky's stance vanished when he caught sight of the man already in the lab. He seemed at home in the space, but Bucky didn't recognize anything about him.  He moved closer to Tony out of reflex, just slightly in front of him.

"Who's he supposed to be?"

The man didn't turn; just held up his glass from over his shoulder in salute or maybe greeting. "You've got a bounty on your head, Mr. Stark."

The rigid line of Tony's shoulders went lax. "That's not news."

He turned to not quite look out of his periphery. "You're a menace."

"Should I be worried that you're here?"

"No one could pay me enough to come after you again." Was the rough, laughed reply.

Bucky didn't lose the edge in his stance, leaving the boot he'd carried down on a bench, freeing up his hands. Everything about the way the man in the chair held himself set Bucky on edge, a steady kind of tension falling over him, as if he was preparing for something. 

"Who's your attack dog?"

"None of your damn business." Bucky replied.

The man finally turned, his suit neat, his hair a mess. He looked at Bucky, scanned him really, and then turned to Tony.

"He's adorable."

"You look like shit," Tony replied.

The stranger just lifted a brow.

Bucky looked the man over, gaze even as he sized him up.  He lent in to Tony a little, brows furrowed in. "I take it you know this guy?"

"John, Bucky. Bucky, John." Tony said by way of an answer. "FRIDAY wouldn't've let him in if I didn't know him."

"Well, she let me out so you never know." Bucky grumbled.

"She's got a soft spot for pretty faces and dark hair." Tony shrugged.

John pushed to his feet, adjusting his suit coat. "You've gotten yourself into trouble again," his eyes ghosted off of Bucky again. "More so than usual."

"Oh, you have no idea." Tony stepped around Bucky, hand already out.

John took it. "It's good to see you, Tony."

Bucky didn't make a move to stop the contact, although he didn't take his eyes off John for a second. He settled a few feet away from them, keeping a careful distance.

Just in case.

"Who put the bounty out?"

John huffed. "From what I understand, the same man that shot you."

"I thought he'd been taken in." Bucky said, more to Tony than to John.

"Yeah, the same way Martha Stewart was taken in." Tony cast him a droll look. "It isn't triple max. He's a politician still awaiting official trial."

Bucky huffed out a sound of discontent. "Here I was hoping he'd get some of his own.”

"So Ross has a hit out for me. I'm really not surprised."

John shook his head. "I didn't think you would be. But I wanted to let you know."

"I thought you retired."

"I did. Then my dog died."

Tony blinked. "Son of a bitch."

"That was a few months back.”

"I'm sorry to hear that, John."

Bucky's expression twisted up in something like sympathy, a frown marring his brow, but he made no move to offer any conversation, not wanting to step in where he wasn't wanted. 

"что есть, то есть." John shrugged.

Tony's nose wrinkled. "That's bullshit."

"Yeah. Doesn't make it any less true."

"It happened. You move on." Bucky said, a little quiet. 

John nodded his head toward Bucky. "He's well-spoken when he speaks."

"Don't get used to it." Bucky deadpanned. 

Tony gave him a sour look before glancing back to John. "Are you staying long?"

"That depends." John shrugged. "Do you have any protective measures set up for the press conference tomorrow?"

"You heard something?"

"Russians mobsters like to talk. Loudly."

"Somehow, I think he'll be fine." Bucky said, almost a threat. 

"I'll wear a suit."

John snorted. "I think upping the security and wearing a vest should do the trick."

"I can keep an eye out, if you'd like." Bucky offered, only a little tentative.

John looked to him, brow up, tone dry. "That would be great if I didn't think you might be part of the problem."

"He won't be." Tony assured.

John reached out, pointedly tipping Tony's chin up to get a better look at the bruises that had darkened as they healed. "You sure about that?"

"Positive. The issue has been taken care of."

John grimaced but dropped his hand. "You're a crazy idiot."

"It's not the first time I've become bosom buddies with someone who tried to wring my neck." Tony gave him a pointed look.

Bucky shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "I won't hurt him."

"Good." John nodded. "Then I won't have to come back out of retirement again."

"I'd like to hope not." Bucky grumbled. 

Tony snorted. "Are you implying I'm the equivalent of a dog?"

John waffled his head to and fro. "You've always been a bit of a bitch."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh, a harsh sound that came seemingly from nowhere, loud in the relative quiet of the lab. 

Smile halfcocked, Tony looked his way. 

"You think that's funny, Long John?"

Bucky huffed out an amused sound, sobering a little as he shrugged. "He ain't wrong.”

Mouth open, Tony twisted to face him proper, when FRIDAY's voice cut him off before he could start.

"Boss, I apologize for the interruption."

Frowning, Tony waved a hand. "Talk to me, baby."

"It appears we have an... uninvited guest in the common room."

Bucky's brows furrowed in, and he looked up for a second. "What kind of guest?"

"His physical signatures do not match those found on Earth." FRIDAY replied. "Though there is quite a bit of interference that I cannot quantify."

John reached for his belt, thumbing open the holster there. He gestured to the door with his head, and Tony nodded.

"Mr. Barton is especially unhappy."

Tony's jaw flexed. "Oh."

Bucky grunted out a little sound, a tension falling back over him. Not found on earth was never going to be good news.

"Is it just me, or is this place a revolving door."

"A bit." Tony muttered. "Doesn't help when it’s an intergalactic trickster sneaking in to my building."

John glanced down at him as they stepped out of the lab and into the elevator. "Long story, I take it?"

"Longer than you think," Tony grunted.

The elevator doors slid shut.


	15. Chapter 14: Ain’t That a Kick in the Head?

“Get that away from me,” Scott muttered, brows up, arm curled around the bamboo bowl Wanda had shoved in his hands fifteen minutes previous and demanded he stir.

Clint lifted his hands in something that was supposed to be innocence; there was a glass bottle of spice of unknown origin in his right hand.  “I was just gonna add a little flavor.”

“You were just gonna ruin this lovely dinner that Wanda and I are making.” Scott shook his head.  “What even is that?”

“Anice.”

“You’re dis _gust_ ing.” Scott turned away from him.

“Wanda,” Clint called over Scott’s shoulder.

She held up a spoon, glancing back at him, her lips pursed.  “Get out of the kitchen, Clint.”

Flipping the bottle over in his hand, grin lopsided, Clint bowed out of the cooking area after setting the spice aside on the marble countertop.  With a two finger salute, he ghosted by Vision, and made his way out to the lounge where Sam was sitting with Natasha.  There was a chessboard on the coffee table between them—something that Natasha had insisted the newer recruits, though Sam would argue his status otherwise, take up to build their strategizing skills further.  Clint padded over and took the spot on the lounger next to her.

Slinging his arms along the back of the crème chaise, he propped his feet up on the corner of the table and ignored the raised eyebrow Sam shot his way.  Natasha didn’t look up from the board even as she reached over and tapped the backs of her knuckles against his thigh.  Rolling his eyes, he pulled his feet back down and gestured with his chin.

“She’s gonna take your rook.”

Sam scowled down at the board for a moment.  “Shit.”

“Where’s the big guy?” Clint leaned in.

Natasha’s shoulders bunched and then relaxed.  Clint frowned.  “Thor? He’s greeting Jane downstairs.  The rats have been getting into the lobby and he wanted to make sure she made it in unscathed.”

“There are a whole lotta eyes on this building.” Sam muttered, rubbing his jaw before tentatively shifting a pawn.

“Probably because it’s swimming with criminals.” Natasha glanced up at him through her lashes, reaching out and taking his rook.  “Check.”

“You’re a terrible person.”

“You’re a terrible chess player.”

Sam grunted.  “You’d think you’d go easier on me.”

Her lips thinned.  Clint grinned broad and bright.

“She is, dude.”

Sam looked up sharp from the board.  “What the fuck, Nat?”

Behind Clint and Natasha, the elevator doors slid open.  Steve stepped out, T’Challa at his side, a number of forms passing between their hands.

She shrugged a shoulder.  “You’ve got to learn somehow.”

“Who’s learning what?” Steve asked without looking up, his brows drawn together. 

Clint peered back at them.  “Sam’s learning how to get his ass handed to him.”

“Oh, he didn’t already learn that lesson?” Steve glanced up under his brows, smile small, and Sam flipped him the bird as Steve’s shoulders shook with mirth.

“Laugh it up, Chuckles.” Sam grumbled, shuffling his king a space over, safe for the barest second.  “I’d like to see you try this.”

T’Challa took the stairs slow, coming to a slow pause next to them, peering down at the board.  “Perhaps I could pose a proper challenge?”

Natasha smiled up at him.  “Perhaps.”

Huffing out a bored sound, Clint gestured to the stack of papers in Steve’s hand with a jerk of his chin.  “What’s that mess?”

“I wanted to look at the claims Wakanda has over us.  See if we need to worry about any loopholes until the Accords have been changed.”  Steve sighed.  “Though, honestly, most of the legal jargon is going right over my head.”

“You’ve just been looking at them too long.”  T’Challa assured.  “I fly to Geneva tomorrow to discuss the addendums Wakanda and at least fifty other nations wish to put in place.  Secretary Ross’ character has put all of his actions in the last two years into question.  Including this.”

“I’d like to think that’s a good thing,” Clint said.

“It is.  There is just a lot to repair.”  T’Challa nodded his head once.  “It is all a bit of a mess right now, but the chaos will settle soon.”

There was a _pop_ of sound and a rush of static.  For a moment, Clint thought his hearing aid had gone on the fritz, and he even reached for it to check the settings before the noise turned into light and the light turned into a burst of color and smoke.  There was a loud _crack_ and then a clatter.  Then there was quiet.

Both Clint and Natasha were quick on their feet; Clint had his baton out, while Natasha had a hand at her waist, just beneath the hem of her shirt, where Clint knew from experience she frequently kept something sharp. 

Arm over his eyes, Steve peered into the haze with narrowed eyes.  His stance was strong and matched T’Challa’s in its breadth.  They were rigid with tension; they practically vibrated with it.  They waited as the smoke faded, the smell of ozone like electricity in the air, making their hair stand on end. 

Sam shuffled out of the cloud, waving a hand in front of his face, eyes watering.  The smoke cleared.  Clint’s jaw clenched so tight that his teeth nearly cracked.

Where the coffee table had once been was the crouched figure of the one Asgardian none of them had been looking forward to handling.  The table legs had broken, and the thick paned glass beneath him had splintered.  There was soot on Loki’s cheek and ash on his clothes, and around him a low blue-green flame faded out into nothing.

Without a word, he stood, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles of his otherworldly coat.  It hung heavy and long, in a deep shade of emerald, matching the other variants of the rest of his clothes and the glints of silver here and there.  His hair, while longer than the last any of them had seen him, was also a bit messier but still obviously well kept. 

He smiled, wide and delighted, and glanced around at them.  “Ah.  The welcoming committee.  What a treat.”

“ _What_ the _fuck_?” Clint sneered, whipping out his baton to full length.

“FRIDAY,” Steve called, hands curling into slow fists.  “Please inform Thor that his brother has just arrived.”

“Of course, Captain.”  FRIDAY replied.  “Mr. Stark and Mr. Barnes will be arriving with their guest in just a moment—“

The elevator doors slid open again.  Tony nearly jogged out, his movements stilted, and he came to a slow stop as he peered up at where they were all gathered up in the raised lounge area.  He swallowed thick once, and then offered up a sharp grin as Bucky and John flanked him.

“Ah, Mr. Stark.” Loki stepped down out of the mess of rubble, moving to ease by Steve and T’Challa, though they blocked his path.  “Finally, a proper chance at decent conversation.”

“I’m not nearly as happy to see you as you are to see me,” Tony replied, hands out.  “Last time we were in this building together, you threw me out of a window.”

Loki’s smile only seemed to broaden.  “To be fair, you did make some rather rude implications.”

For the first time since he'd escaped, Bucky wished he had Natasha's foresight and traveled armed. Whilst the Asgardian might have been out numbered, Bucky didn't know what he was capable of, nor was he willing to test the god. He moved to stand between Loki and Tony; level with Steve.

"What's your business here?"

Loki barely glanced at Bucky.  “The refugees from Xandar will be here in within the week.  Are you prepared for them?”

“Space has been set aside for them.” Tony said, a wrinkle forming between his brows.  “Most people would’ve called.”

“Most people are not me,” Loki’s chin tilted up.

Then he was gone. 

Jerking back a step, Tony looked around furtively just as everyone else was.  “FRIDAY—“

“You look _awful_ ,” Loki frowned from somewhere over Tony’s right shoulder.  “What in Asgard happened?”

John drew his gun.  There was a loud _rumble_ and out on the terrace, Thor landed with Jane at his side; her hair was everywhere, and she stumbled a bit on landing, but she otherwise looked well-composed.  Thor’s expression was dark as he stalked into the common area, vaulting over the railing and down onto the same floor with a harsh _thud_ where Tony and Loki stood with Bucky and John bordering them.

“What is the meaning of your abrupt arrival, brother?” he demanded.

Loki rolled his eyes skyward.  “I _did_ just explain that.”

Bucky moved to allowed Thor to pass, trusting him to be able to deal with his own brother. He shifted to stand by Steve, both of them watching Loki's every move. Steve had since dropped the paper's he'd been holding, and from behind him, Clint and Natasha stood, something a lot like loathing written on Barton's face.

"Never seemed to stop you from talking before." Clint said sharply. "Silver tongue having an off day?"

“Still a bit bitter, Mr. Barton?” Loki’s gaze flit to his face.

"You could say that." Clint shot back, and for a moment it looked like he was going to take a step forward, if not for the hand Natasha wrapped around his wrist to bar his way.

“Could we _not_ have a brawl in my building?” Tony snapped.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble.” Loki folded his hands behind his back.

Natasha’s brow arched up.

Thor strode over, taking Loki by his shirtfront.  “You will explain the reason behind your appearance, brother.  While we have come to an understanding, you are not on steady ground with the rest of the Avengers.”

“I did not imagine I would be,” Loki replied, slow, as if talking to a child.  “I am here to aid in preparation for the Xandarians’ arrival to Midgard and to see what plans have been made to fend off the Mad Titan.”

"And you couldn't have just used the front door like everyone else?" Clint asked, gesturing vaguely to the rubble in the common room. 

"Trust the god of mischief to make an entrance." Steve said, even, although there was something tight in his voice. 

"I apologize for the mess." Thor said, shooting his brother a pointed look as he eased his grip on his shirt. "But I think we have better things to discuss right now."

“Right,” Tony rubbed a hand over his chest, almost absent.  “Should we take this downstairs?  I consigned a floor for this sort of thing.”

“You put aside a whole floor for dealing with intergalactic bullshit?” Sam asked.

“Something like that,” Tony shrugged.  “Space politics can’t be any cleaner than earth politics.”

Loki looked to him, head dipping.  “I think that would be the wisest choice.  Neutral ground.”

“And not so high up.” Tony’s grin was sharp.

Loki’s mouth twitched. 

The kitchen door swung open and Scott stepped out.  “Grub’s on!”

“Raincheck, Lang.” Tony said.  “There’s business to attend to.”

Scott's eyes bugged, and for a second he was freakishly silent. It wasn't every day you saw two gods and assorted superheroes drawing battles lines in the lounge room.

He was still for a second before he slowly backed out of the room again, kitchen door swinging for a moment.  He reemerged with Wanda and Vision, both wearing matching frowns as they gathered around the destruction Loki had wrought.

"If we're all here then." Thor said, gesturing for Tony to lead the way. 

Tony gestured to the elevator.  “After you, big guy.”

He waited as everyone made slow progress over to the lift.  John caught Tony’s elbow, leaning in, and Tony nodded once before John released him and stepped away. 

As Natasha made her way down the stairs with Clint at her side, she paused at Tony’s side and exchanged a pointed look with Bucky as he finally slinked after Steve.  “The good doctor went back up to your suite.”

Tony’s brows shot up.  “Should I expect a visit from Mr. Hyde?”

“No,” Natasha’s smile was brief.  “He’s hiding.”

“Understandable.”

Clint grunted and looked between the two of them.  “Not really.  Friends don’t keep secrets from friends.”

Tony glanced up at him, head cocking.  “We’re friends again?”

“Well, I like you much better than I like that asshole.” Clint gestured to where Loki was greeting Jane with a surprising amount of gentility. 

“High praise.”  

* * *

 

The tension that had gathered around them didn't waver as they made their way downstairs, a healthy distance between Loki and the others, although Thor seemed to find no difficulty remaining by his brother’s side, keeping watchful eye as he spoke with Jane. 

When they'd all gathered, it was Steve who finally broke the silence. "So. The Xandarians are nearly here. Do you know how many?"

"Most were housed in the planets in the Nova system," Loki assured.  "Those that could not find space attempted to seek asylum elsewhere.  We have shepherded them to Midgard." 

Steve looked to Tony for a second. "And we've made arrangement for this kind of thing?"

“Made arrangements for anywhere from a dozen to a few thousand refugees.” Tony nodded, arms crossed loose over his chest.

“There will not be that many,” Loki replied, eyeing him and then shifting, the armor on his clothes shimmering and then fading until he was in a casually pressed suit of a Midgardian fashion.  “The numbers have sense dwindled as more planets have offered space for them.  The current number is perhaps in the hundreds.”

“And what are we going to tell people?" Bucky asked, shifting a little from where he stood by Steve's side. "We can't just invite a few hundred aliens in without a story."

“Actually,” Tony rubbed a slow hand over the back of his neck.  “I’ve got an idea.  Just not sure how well it’s going to pan out.”

"What's new?" Clint muttered.

Thor huffed out a tired sound. "What do you propose?"

“An expo.”

Steve's brows hitched. "An expo?"

“Don’t make it seem like refugees.” Tony nodded.  “Make it seem like a chance to get to know some friendly otherworldly folk.”

Natasha leaned forward, elbows resting on the table top where she’d taken her seat.  “Invite people in as if it’s not something to be worried about.  Instead it’s an event.  Something exciting and new.”

“Meanwhile, they get a chance to settle in while T’Challa and I finish establishing a legal president for their temporary stay in the US and in Wakanda.” Tony replied. 

"And we just aren't going to mention the fact that a universe ending calamity is chasing after them?" Steve asked, an edge creeping into his voice.

Tony met his gaze and held it for a moment.  Then he nodded.

“Yes,” Tony said.  “If we let people know that Thanos is coming, it’ll spark panic.  They’ll blame the Xandarians.  They’ll shoot them out of the sky before they ever touch ground.”

Steve let out a tight breath, and he nodded once, confident despite his misgivings.  "Alright. Okay, fair enough. This is your party."

Tony blinked, head jerking just slightly as he regarded Steve.  His lips parted, but whatever he wanted to voice died on his tongue.

Nodding once, he offered a tentative smile.  “Then that’s how we’ll establish it.  Get them here, get them safe.  Then inform the world that something big, bad, and terrifyingly purple is on its way.”

Loki stared at Tony for a long moment.  “And your plans for Thanos’ arrival?”

“Tentative at best,” Tony bowed his head toward Natasha.

She tapped her fingers against the glass tabletop, typing in a code.  Blueprints of the Earth and the surrounding space sprung up in a sea of blue lights. 

"We were hoping the Nova Corps might be able to help us route the bulk of his fleet away from earth. Pick them off before they breech." Steve told them. "But other than that, we're still working on a concrete plan."

"I can speak with Nova Prime about accessing the fleet." Thor said. "I'm sure she'd be more than willing."

Loki hummed, resting his hands on the table and peering at the hologram.  “You wish to funnel them into a specific area.  To avoid casualties, I presume?”

“That’s the idea.” Tony reached out, twisting the diagram around.  “We’re thinking here.”

“It will be difficult to narrow the breech down so vastly.”

“Difficult,” Vision said.  “Improbable, even.  But not impossible.”

"Which is sort of the story of everything we do." Clint shrugged. "Difficult, but not impossible."

"Unless someone can think of another way to narrow down their numbers, it'll have to do. I don't want a repeat of New York." Steve said.

The room remained silent.  Steve scanned it and then nodded.

“Then we’re at an agreement.”

Tony seemed to slump in relief, exhaling one long breath as the rest of the Avengers seemed to break into chatter.  Next to him, Loki glanced up, his smile lopsided, his eyes glinting.

“Your idea?”

“Yes,” Tony admitted.  “I was expecting a bit more of a fight.”

“The plan is a good one.  Dangerous, but good.  Why would anyone attempt to question it?”

“Because it’s mine.”

"It's as good as we've got." Natasha interjected, looking between them.

Tony met her gaze, brow up.  “I’m almost offended.”

"It's not exactly ideal." Natasha said, gesturing vaguely in Loki's direction. "Like he said, it's dangerous."

“You do remember you helped me come up with this plan, right?”

Natasha raised a brow at him. "Of course I do. Because it's the best we've got."

With a snort, Tony turned away.  “If you’ll excuse me, I have some pain medication to go abuse.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you do."

* * *

Steve watched as his teammates dispersed, brushing at Bucky's shoulder gently, and pinning Sam with a look. "You guys go on ahead; I've got something to deal with here."

"Catch you around?" Sam said, eyeing Steve for a second until he got a nod in response, turning to catch up with T'challa before he could get into the elevator.

Bucky lingered in for a moment, hesitating by Steve's side, casting a glance over to where the god of mischief still stood.

"I'll be back up soon. I just want to talk to Tony about something." Steve told him, offering him a little smile as Bucky pulled away, watching him go for a moment before he turned to find Tony in the dispersing crowd.

He fell into step beside Tony without much effort, hands shoved in his pockets.  Tony’s gaze was cast downward, fingers tapping over the screen of a slim phone.

"So. You still set on that space suit?"

Tony blinked up at him, brows climbing his forehead. "Vision is helping me with the ratios I need to make sure it's combat ready but completely space tight."

"And I suppose he'd know." Steve said evenly, glancing down at him briefly. "Just figured I'd check in."

Eyes closing, Tony came to a stop. "Oh, please tell me you haven't jumped on the crazy make sure I'm not dying by hyper worrying train."

Steve gave a shrug. "Can't a guy just check in?"

"You and everyone else in this building." Tony muttered and shook his head. "I appreciate it. The trying thing you're trying to do. But honestly, fending you all off is more exhausting than the actual having been shot thing."

Steve huffed out a little sound, ducking his head. "Alright. Okay, I can lay off if you want."

"It's not just you." Tony took a step closer, then faltered awkwardly, wavering back. "It's--fuck, Rogers, it's Barnes; it's Natasha; it's Rhodey; it's Pepper. I've got people coming out of the damn woodwork."

Steve's brows furrowed in, something soft in his expression as he reached out to lay a hand on Tony's shoulder, squeezing gently. "At least it means they care about you, right? Even if they might be a little too clingy."

Lips thinning, Tony stared at him. He swallowed thick, gaze straying when he could not hold Steve's any longer.

"You saying you care, Captain?" He asked, tone glib.

Steve huffed out a sigh, but he didn't take his hand away just yet. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Laughing, soft and a bit bitter, Tony lingered for a moment. Then he stepped out from under Steve's hand.

"Thanks," he sighed. "I need to head up to my suite and take care of some business."

"You sure? Lang made dinner." Steve said, letting him move away, but trailing after him.

"That's not as incentivizing as you think it is."

Steve huffed out a sound, and slowed a little to let Tony get ahead. "Alright then, suit yourself. Offer still stands though."

"Thank you," Tony's smile was brief.  "Really, Steve, I do appreciate what you're doing.  It's just... It's still weird." 

"Yeah. I get it." Steve said, offering him a little smile. "I can lay off."

"Now if only you could get Barnes to have some chill." 

Steve laughed, a little rough around the edges. "I gave up on that a long time ago."

"Right," Tony palmed the back of his head.  "Later, then?" 

"Yeah. Later." Steve said, moving away from him. 

* * *

 

The water was warm where it lapped around Bucky's forearms, seeping strangely into the plates of his left arm as he lifted a dish out of the sink.  A stray piece of hair fell forward onto his face, skirting just above his cheek bone as he worked, not a trace of tension in his frame. The calm of the kitchen was broken only by the quiet hum Bucky gave, in tune to something he couldn't quite put a name on just yet. 

The sound of footsteps behind him broke what the idle concentration Bucky had on the task at hand, glancing behind him briefly, a smile curving his lips when he saw Wanda approach. "Hey."

"Is that one of Tony's songs?" Wanda asked, a wrinkle between her brows as she slid up to the kitchen bench.  "It sounds familiar." 

Bucky hesitated for a second, brows furrowing in. "I don't know. It might be."

"It's sounds like something he'd listen to."

"Probably is." Bucky said, lowering a plate into the water. "I'm around him enough."

Wanda hummed. "Are you washing them by hand?"

Bucky nodded, glancing at her for a moment. "Guess I'm just used to doing it that way."

"Yes," Wanda smiled faintly. "It is relaxing."

Bucky huffed out a little sound, amused as he washed the plate clean. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is, in a weird kinda way."

"How are you feeling?" she asked, offering a hand and plucking up a towel with the other.

Bucky glanced at her, something soft in his expression. "Better, now."

She took the washed plate as he passed it to her, drying it with slow cylindrical movements.  "I am happy to hear that." 

"What about you?" Bucky asked. "All that was probably harder on you than it was on me."

"Why would you think that?" 

Bucky gave a little shrug. "You were the one doing all the work, right? And you looked pretty beat after."

Wanda hummed.  "I will admit it was more physically taxing than I expected.  Vision helped me with the technique.  I think it would have been worse if I had attempted to sway your mind the same way I had with others before you." 

Bucky made a quiet sound. "Kind of glad you didn't. Although. Sometimes I wonder if that'd even work on me now."

"I'd prefer we not test it." Wanda intoned dryly.

"That's fair." Bucky said. "I wouldn't wanna do it either, if I were you."

"It is...enthralling. In a way." She admitted with some amount of reluctance. "The power of it. It is the outcome that is usually...regrettable."

Bucky nodded slowly, passing her another plate. "Might be. But you can use it to help too."

"That part is still new."

She took the plate from him. Carefully, she toweled it dry.

"It is strange to use something meant for destruction in a way that is good."

"It's meant for whatever you want it to be meant for." Bucky said, strangely adamant. 

Wanda smiled. "That is what Clint would say."

"Yeah, cause it's how it works." Bucky said, a little gruff. "Barton’s got the right idea for once."

Brow up, Wanda's smile went lopsided. "For once?"

"Yeah," Bucky said.  “For once.”

Laughing quietly behind a hand, Wanda shook her head, mirth straining her voice. "I will let him know. I'm sure he will be proud of such an achievement."

"Careful, you'll inflate his ego." Bucky added, smile widening, almost roguish.

"As if that is difficult to do."

Bucky huffed out a laugh, smile generous and warm as he passed over another dish. "Yeah, that's true."

Returning his smile, Wanda took another dish.

They fell into sync.  As Bucky washed, Wanda dried.  The suds in the sink sloshed against the sides as Bucky reached down into it to pluck out one of the glasses that had been soaking. As he scrubbed it clean, metal fingers  _tink tink tinking_  against the crystal, the kitchen door behind them swung open. 

Vision stepped in, sweater vest stained with pasta sauce.  He was frowning down at it, padding forward with the material pinched between his fingers and stretched outward, as if on display for others. 

"Wanda, it appears I somehow managed to make a mess." He looked up and faltered, blinking at the sight of both Bucky and Wanda peering over their shoulders at him.  "Oh." 

Expression softening into a sweet smile, Wanda dried her hands and glided over.  "How did you do this?  You don't even eat, Viz." 

"I honestly am equally as puzzled as you are." 

Before Bucky could even try to stop himself, he was laughing, bright and loud, knees buckling a little.  They both stared at him.

"Sorry—aw, fuck. Sorry, I shouldn't be laughing, but what the hell did you do?"

"I was assisting Mr. Barton with clearing the table earlier," Vision gestured back toward the door.  "It must have occurred then." 

Wanda clucked her tongue, stepping close and letting red spark at the ends of her fingers.  "You're a mess, Viz." 

"Yes, well." His smile was polite, if a bit stiff, and he watched her phase the stain out of the soft blue of his sweater.  "Thank you." 

Smiling, she leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  "Of course." 

Without another word, she brushed by and out the door.  Standing there, eyes wide, Vision touched the tips of his fingers to his cheek where her lips had been. 

"Oh." 

Something soft came over Bucky's face, unspeakably fond as he looked over at Vision.  He raised an expectant brow as Vision lingered in the kitchen after Wanda had left.

"Well, go on. Go after her."

"Right. Yes." Vision said but did not move for a long second. "Of course."

The door swung shut behind him. Turning back to the dishes, Bucky laughed and shook his head.

* * *

 

“You’re still planning on pursuing the press conference tomorrow,” John muttered, lips pursed as he swallowed down a mouthful of Hendricks.

“I don’t exactly have any other options, Johnny boy.” Tony shook his head, dolling out a glass for himself.

At the bar next to John, Bruce watched him with a careful eye.

“You’ll need protection.” John surmised.  “I know it’s difficult—you always make it difficult to get into these things—but you pissed off a pretty big guy, Tony.”

“I’m always pissing off big guys.”

Bruce didn’t miss the sly look Tony passed his way.  Or the smile.  Or the muffled snort as he swallowed a hefty mouthful of his own.

John sighed, shoulders easing.  “I’ll be there.  In the crowd.”

“I’d appreciate it.”  Tony nodded.  “Brucie?”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony shook his head, holding out a hand.  “No need, Bruce.  Wasn’t gonna ask.”

Bruce blinked.  “Oh.”

“How long are you gonna hide up here?”

Grimacing, Bruce shifted on his stool.  John finished his drink and Tony set about making him another. 

For a moment, Bruce just watched him slice careful slivers of cucumber.  His lips pressed thin and he shook his head.

“I’m not sure.  Until you get tired of me, I guess.  Or until I’m needed.” Bruce’s left cheek twitched and he pulled off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes.  “Or the other guy is.”

“Deal.”

Bruce looked back up at him.  “You really don’t have to put up with me, Tony.  Not that I don’t mind being able to make sure you don’t rip all of your stitches out doing something stupid.”

“Brucie, baby, when have you ever known me to do something stupid?”

John coughed out a laugh.  He and Bruce shared a look; they didn’t know each other, but they certainly knew Tony.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony’s gaze fell back to his task, shaking his head again.  “But really.  It’s fine.  I’m happy to have you back.”

He slid John another drink. 

They raised them in salute—to one another or to past mishaps or to future ones, Bruce wasn’t sure—and then downed them.

“Alright, boys.” Tony clapped his hands, rubbing them together.  “I need to prep for tomorrow.  Big day.”

“I’ll hit up Angelino’s.  See if he’s heard anything on his end.  I heard Gregor talking about the possibility of multiple hits.” John pushed up from his seat, buttoning his suit jacket, sharing a derisive look with Tony.  “Russians.”

“Big mouths,” Tony bobbed his head.  “Punch Gregor’s teeth out for me.  Again.”

“I’d be happy to.” John replied with a dry earnestness.  “Until next time.”

He left as unobtrusively as he’d come.  Then Bruce and Tony were alone.

“Are you sure about all of this?” he asked.

Tony nodded.  “I have to be.”

“Tony,” Bruce said.  “You don’t _have_ to do any of this.”

“What Barnes said down in that lab isn’t wrong,” Tony denied.  “I have things to atone for.  Wrongs to right.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

Tony’s smile was a small, brittle thing.  But he rounded the bar and clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, giving a tight squeeze. 

Bruce grinned, lopsided and kind.

“Wanna help me write my speech, then?”

Bruce snorted.  “Not on your life.”

With a pout, Tony pulled back.  “Bruciebear, light of my life, heart of my hearts, you hurt me so.”

“Go,” Bruce waved a hand.  “Get to work.  Don’t pull your stitches.”

“Yes, dear.”

Bruce watched him go, drink in hand, but it wasn’t the whole bottle.  Bruce took some amount of comfort in that.


	16. Chapter 15: (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

Scott was on his third cup of coffee when the door to the stairwell swung open.  He blinked up, brows drawing toward his hairline slow at the sight of Tony, more flustered than he’d ever had the opportunity to see, and Scott watched from his place on the lounger in the elevated sitting area as Tony seemed to struggle with a tie. His face was still bruised; there was a yellowing near his mouth and in the shape of fingers still at his throat.  Every time he lifted his right arm to adjust the knot, he would wince and flex his fingers, and even when it was straight he kept trying to fix it. 

Gaze tracking Tony as he paced over toward where a coffee pot was still steaming from the fresh batch Sam had brewed on top of the remnants of Scott’s before he’d headed off to shower from his and Rogers’ daily run, Scott canted his head.  He watched Tony pour himself a mug, saw the tightness around his eyes and the tremor of his hand, and Scott pushed to his feet and cleared his throat so loudly it nearly echoed in the otherwise empty space. 

Jerking, Tony spilled coffee over the edge of the mug and over his fingers.  With a hiss, he shook his hand out and glanced over as Scott jogged down the stairs and over to Tony at the counters.  He set his own mug down, smile close-lipped but bright, and Tony poured him another cup.

“Big day?” Scott asked. 

“Something like that.” 

Scott cleared his throat again, leaning at the edge of the bench, his arms crossing and his shoulders high.  “It’s the press thing, right?  You’re gonna, like… tell people everything.” 

“Not everything.” Tony frowned down at his coffee after taking a drink. 

“Right! Not the whole Mad Titan thing,” Scott bobbed his head up and down.  “But, like, the us thing.  The us being here.  And they’ll come and take us again, but you’ll—I mean, you’ll get us out like you did Barnes, right?” 

Tony blinked up at him and then heaved out a heavy breath.  “You’re  _ not _ going to be taken.” 

“You’re not going to tell them we’re here?” 

Mouth working around another mouthful of coffee, bitter and burnt, Tony leaned back against the counter, bracing with his left hand.  “I’m not going to tell them.” 

Scott let out a breath he’d been holding for days. 

Then Tony continued.  “I’m not going to tell them because they already know.  Haven’t you been watching the news?  There are reporters harassing my staff as they walk in every morning—so much so that I’ve had a number of them just stay the night and sleep in the wellness rooms.  Everyone knows you’re here.  They just aren’t doing anything about it because the public would lose their damn minds if they tried.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Tony nodded.  “Oh.” 

“What if they wouldn’t though?  What if the UN keeps the Accords as they are?” Scott asked. 

“If you’re in this building, they can’t touch you.  Not without a ratified sanction.  T’Challa and I made sure of that before you arrived.” 

“How?” 

“I converted three floors into a political embassy—for the countries in the UN and for the other peaceful realms we’ve made contact with outside of our world.  This entire building isn’t just part of Stark Industries anymore; it’s a political sanctuary.” Tony replied.  “You’re safe here, Mr. Lang.  You have been since you stepped off of the jet with the King of Wakanda as his delegates.” 

Scott’s chin weakened and then creased.  He stared at Tony for a long, quiet moment and then moved forward to tug him into a tight embrace. 

“Ow!” 

“Oh!” Scott pulled back, hands like birds, fluttering over Tony’s person.  “You’ve been shot.” 

“Yes,” Tony grimaced, placing a ginger hand to his side as he shifted around to brace against the counter.  “Yes, thank you for reminding me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Scott added quickly.  “Not just for—well.” 

Tony’s brows shot up. 

“I mean, for assuming the worst of you before knowing you.” Scott shuffled.  “I mean, I should have known better, of all people not to judge someone by their past or by what others have said about them, but… yeah.” 

“What others have said?” 

“Hank.  And Barton, mostly.  Guy knows how to hold a grudge.”  Scott coughed.  “But you’ve done some really amazing things, Mr. Stark.  Sir.  For all of us.  And, well, I just—Thanks.  Mr. Stark.  Sir.” 

“Tony.” 

“Tony,” Scott grinned.  “Thank you.” 

Tony stared at him for a long, painful second.  He was leaning forward now, both hands on the countertop, mouth drawn down in harsh lines.

Shifting from foot to foot, Scott watched him.  Then Tony shrugged a shoulder. 

“I was just trying to make things right.” His voice was rough.  “There’s nothing to be grateful for.” 

“But—“ Scott faltered as Tony looked up.  “Well, I mean, you weren’t the only one who needed to make things right.  I think we all made some pretty questionable decisions.” 

A wrinkle formed between Tony’s brows. 

Scott shoved his hands into his pockets.  “I mean, what kinda idiot goes against a ratified policy put in place by the UN?” 

Snorting, Tony shook his head.  “Steve Rogers.” 

“Well.  Yeah.  And he did it for good reasons, but…. But that whole showdown at the airport?” Scott sighed.  “The second you found out Steve wasn’t blowing hot air to save Barnes, you were working with us to stop Zemo.  If Steve had talked to you, that fight probably never would’ve happened.” 

Tony stared at him again.  “You don’t know that.” 

Scott looked at him for a long, quiet moment.  “Actually, I think I do.” 

Tony’s mouth opened, as if he meant to protest, when the elevator doors slid open and Rhodey came out, jaw set and limp severe, with Natasha at his flank.  While Rhodey’s right hand was braced, his weight a constant balance between stilted legs and specifically modified cane, his left had something blue and white clutched in it. 

As he saddled up to the two of them, he thrust it out, brows up.  Tony’s lips pursed. 

“Put it on.” Rhodey urged. 

“Get that thing away from me.” 

“Tony,” Rhodey’s voice dipped low.  “Put it on, or I’ll put it on  _ for you _ .” 

Natasha lifted a dry brow from Rhodey’s side.  “It’ll help improve public opinion if they see you standing there injured but still willing to defend this.” 

Scott glanced from her to Tony and watched his jaw flex.  “I hate your devious super secret agent mind.” 

“No, you don’t.” Natasha muttered, glancing at the delicate gold watch on her wrist.  “You’re going to be late.” 

Rhodey thrust the sling out once more.  Upper lip curling, Tony reached out and snatched it away. 

“Thank you,” Rhodey grunted. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Rhodey huffed, shoulders rolling straight.  “Wasn’t talking to you.” 

He turned, in stride with Natasha, headed back toward the elevator.  Scott bit back his mirth. 

“Good luck.” 

“I’ll need it,” Tony breathed.  “Enjoy the show.” 

Scott bobbed his head again.  “I’ll make popcorn.  It’ll be a thing.” 

That earned him a laugh, short but genuine.  “Do that.  Try not to burn it as much as you burned the coffee.” 

Scott blinked.  “The coffee isn’t burnt.” 

“Lang,” Tony shook his head, setting his mug aside and pushing away from the counter.  “It’s burnt.  Watch a youtube video.  There’s a hundred baristas that want to be famous that can tell you just how to avoid that sort of thing next time.” 

Plucking up Tony’s mug as he walked away, Scott sniffed it and then took a long pull.  His nose wrinkled.  It was acrid, bitter, and colder than he’d like it to be. 

But otherwise it tasted just like every other cup of coffee he’d ever had.  He shrugged and set it aside.

* * *

 

“Come here,” Natasha said the moment the elevator doors were shut. 

Tony shuffled close and his expression did some duality of impressed and disturbed as she took out a compact.  He eyed it, as if it might be some kind of weapon, before she swiped up some of the crème concealer on a sponge.  It was a cooler color than he expected, and as she reached up to tip his chin back, he realized that it was to counter the yellow on his skin.  

“Stay still,” she murmured, blending it over the lines of his neck where he needed it. 

“Got that lipstick you’re wearing to go with this?” Tony’s throat worked.  “I think it’d really bring out my eyes.” 

“You can’t make jokes like that when you used to wear eyeliner on a daily basis.” Rhodey grunted. 

“It wasn’t a joke,” Tony grinned and shrugged when Natasha paused to peer up at him.  “It was the nineties.” 

Natasha hummed, lips pursing in that way they did when she was trying not to smile. “I’m sure it went well with your leather pants.” 

“How’d you know about my leather pants?” Tony’s eyes glinted in the dim light of the elevator, grin broadening. 

Rhodey snorted. 

“Are you ready for this?” Natasha asked. 

“I’ve got my speech memorized, my panic button somewhere in my coat, and my safeword on the tip of my tongue.” Tony squeezed an eye shut as Natasha pressed too hard at a spot just under his jaw.  “It’s rutabaga, if you’re curious.” 

“Nothing about your sex life interests me, Tinman.” 

“Not even the kinky stuff?” 

“Especially the kinky stuff.” 

“Tony,” Rhodey cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable enough for the both of them.  “You’ve got this.  What you’re doing, it’s important.  It’s okay if you’re nervous.” 

Tony shared a significant look with him.  Silent, Natasha kept blending the bruises at his throat away.  Overhead, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. 

“You’ve got this,” Rhodey repeated. 

It was reassurance.  But it was also a question.  

Tony nodded.  He stepped away from Natasha and adjusted the set of his suit coat.  “Shall we?” he gestured forward. 

Rhodey smiled and stepped out.

* * *

 

“ _ I think we can move onto taking questions _ ,” Tony said and his jaw was set where he stood up at the front of the room behind the podium, his arm hung in a sling. 

There was a rush of sound from the crowd of reporters.  There was flash after flash of camera bulbs. When Tony held up a hand and told them one at a time, they seemed to finally settle, though there was certainly a restlessness about them when the news camera focused on them.  Tony was stalwart as he picked and chose select members one by one. 

A young reporter stood up first, and from his spot on the couch, Bucky instantly recognized her as the young woman he got caught helping.  He blinked, leaning forward, and from next to him Steve glanced his way and then at the screen.  

“ _ Yes, um. _ ” The girl swallowed, pen and pad in hand.  “ _ Martina Collins with the New York Times. _ ” 

“ _ What can I help you with, Miss Collins _ ?” 

“ _ I wrote the exposé on Barnes’ character—or, rather, what was known of him from historic statements, as well as Captain Rogers’ own claims about him after the DC incidents when he was still on a man hunt for him, and also from my firsthand account.”  _ Martina continued, eyes locked on where Tony stood.  “ _ It’s been revealed that these internationally wanted criminals have been sheltered by you, and… well, I think what we all want to know is  _ why _?”  _

_ “Why?”  _

_ “You were one of the predominant pushers for the Accords, yet even when you have teammates who went against those regulations, you sheltered them.  Did you ever believe in the Accords?”  _

Steve almost held his breath.  From somewhere to his right, he thought he heard Clint mutter a curse.

“He’s gonna say yes.” Clint muttered.  “And then any chance of amending them or getting our names off a Most Wanted list are over.” 

“You don’t know that.” Scott insisted, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.  

Bucky seemed to grunt in agreement. 

“ _ I believe in what the Accords were trying to do, yes.”  _ Tony finally said after a long pause, and the room erupted into a number of questions. 

“ _ Why are you trying to get rid of them now, then? _ ” 

“ _ I said I believed in what the Accords were trying to  _ do _ , not what they  _ are _.”  _ Tony said, tone firm, and the room went quiet under the command of his voice.   “ _ In trying to keep the world— _ this world— _ safe, accidents have occurred.  Vast accidents.  And lives have been lost and no one was held accountable to a proper degree.  Lines needed to be drawn and that’s what I believe the Accords would work toward. _

“ _ Unfortunately, the Accords were hastily put together by a man that has proven to be, not only power hungry, but corrupt in moral and ethical ways.  The Accords themselves have been proven problematic—some of the regulations prevent individuals, enhanced or otherwise, from being where they might be most needed.  These individuals, these people, are heroes.  Just like Bucky Barnes is a hero.  Just like Steve Rogers  _ is  _ a  _ hero.” Tony paused again, taking a deep breath, and he gestured off to his flank where Thor stood at Pepper’s side.  “ _ There is more than just our world to keep in mind these days.  More than just our  _ galaxy.

“ _ That is why both King T’Challa and I are working so hard to change the Accords.  To fix what is wrong with them so that maybe we can do a little right with them.  I believe in what the Accords were trying to do, trying to create a line in the sand and prevent horrible accidents from happening again, to prevent all manner of lives being lost, but in their current state the only thing that they prevent is heroes who want to do good from doing just that.”  _

The reporters broke out into another flurry of questions.  Tony let them, and on the screen, they could see Thor move forward and rest a hand on his shoulder.  

It was a tactful move as much as it was a supportive one.  

“Oh, he’s very good.” Loki chimed from somewhere behind them, and it was Scott who yelped and jumped.  

Teeth gritting tight, Clint cast him a foul look.  “What the fuck are you on about?” 

“Already introducing the idea of outsiders being just as important as you all seem to think you are,” Loki replied, eyes on the screen as Tony took the next question.  “Admitting just enough fault and blame before turning failure into something like hope.” 

Clint glared over his shoulder at him, and Loki’s gaze flit down to meet his briefly. 

He shrugged.  “After all, you Midgardians do love an underdog.” 

_ “Mr. Stark _ ,” another reporter identified themselves.  “ _ How do you intend to change the Accords?  And what about the rest of the Avengers?”  _

_ “We hope that with change comes forgiveness,”  _ Tony replied.  “ _ Captain Rogers lead a team against the Accords in order to save a lot of people from a revenge hungry zealot who is now being held with the current Task Force.  This was the same man who framed James Barnes for the bombing at the UN.  I don’t think they should be blamed for what they did.  I hope that the amendments we make to the Accords will see to that.”  _

“ _ And what about intergalactic regulations?  Will the new Accords address enhanced individuals like Thor _ ?” 

“ _ That’s the idea.  But in order to do that, there needs to be an organization that can negotiate terms with outside forces.”  _

A woman stood up in the back.  “ _ Do you have any idea how you’re going to do that?  Or who you’ll get to head such an organization?”  _

Tony blinked.  “ _ The how is currently caught up in the legal minutia that is getting over two-thirds of the UN to agree intergalactic policy can be handled by a single group of specific individuals.  The who is still in the air—though, Thor is our representative from space, for lack of a better phrasing.”  _

“ _ What about you, Mr. Stark? _ ” Martina, still up front, still scribbling all the while as she spoke, asked pointedly and shrewdly.  “ _ Don’t you think, after all of your experience, you’d qualify as a proper representative for earth?  If not the head of the organization in development, then at least a middle man?  You already have friendly relationships with outsiders such as Thor and you’ve admitted and proven to have the earth’s best interest in mind…”  _

She trailed off a moment, clearing her throat in the dead silence that fell over the room. 

“ _ I mean, I don’t think any of us could forget what you did to save this city from a nuclear weapon.”  _

Tony stared at her for a long, quiet moment.  “ _ I guess that would be up to the organization, once it’s finally formed under the new Accord regulations,”  _ he finally said. 

At his side, Thor stepped closer, his voice booming even without the microphones.  “ _ Out of all of my Midgardian brethren, Anthony Stark would be my first pick for such a task.  While he has faults, he has always proven to be fair and valiant in battle and in peace. _ ” 

Tony looked like he might protest when the room erupted into another rush of questions.  He and Thor shared a look and nod, and exchanged some small amount of conversation before turning their focus back out onto the media. 

From his spot on the couch, Steve rubbed a hand over his jaw.  “Jesus,” he breathed. 

Loki, still lingering and unwelcome, hummed.  “A surprisingly wise choice for my brother to make.” 

“Says  _ you _ ,” Clint grunted. 

Bucky grunted out a soft sound, eyes cast warily to Loki for a moment before he relented. "He'd make a good representative. He's smart, got his head mostly screwed on straight, knows how to talk the talk when he needs to."

"You don't think it's even a little bit convenient that this comes up now?" Clint asked, drawing vaguely judgmental gazes from both Barnes and Rogers. "Okay. Okay. Maybe it was an accident."

"I don't think he planned it." Steve said evenly.

“No,” Loki said, staring at the screen.  “No, I don’t imagine he did.  He wouldn’t have bumbled through it so much if Thor hadn’t surprised him with it.” 

“Are you done?” Clint scowled up at him. 

"Who knew gods liked running commentary." Bucky quipped, shifting on the couch next to Steve, casting a brief glance at Loki.

Loki returned the gaze, his grin wicked and sharp.  “You’d be surprised.” 

Without another word, he left them to the television broadcast as Pepper took her place at the podium and announced that the press conference was closing. 

"Well. At least it went mostly smoothly." Steve said, relieved when Loki finally departed. "Seems Tony's got a handle on it."

"Told you he did." Bucky grunted. 

"Don't be smug, Buck."

“I knew it would go great,” Scott added, sharing a tight lipped grin with Bucky when it was passed his way.  

"Of course you did." Clint said, only slightly bitter.

“Hey, just because he’s sometimes an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not a good guy.” Scott replied.  “You should know that better than me.  You’ve known him longer.  He’s one of you.  One of us.” 

"He's sure got a funny way of showing it sometimes." Clint said flatly. 

"He's shit at feelings, okay." Bucky retorted, vaguely defensive. 

"You say that like you two are best friends," Clint's brow lifted. 

Bucky gave a shrug. "We get along well enough these days."

Scott was the one that scoffed.  "You spend all of your time with him when you aren't with Rogers." 

"Like Bucky said. They get along these days." Steve said.

"So you're friends." Scott concluded, like they were slow. "I mean, I don't think I’d literally take a bullet like that for someone that wasn't my friend."

Bucky huffed out a sound, uncomfortable.  "Yeah. I guess that happened too."

"You are talking about Stark, though." Clint shook his head. "The same guy that flew a nuke through a galactic portal into space. Same guy that nearly dropped a city on himself. Not like any of those people were his friends."

Bucky didn't meet Clint's eyes, shifting on the couch, gaze drawn to the elevator. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Always tells me he doesn't play well with others."

"Anything make you think otherwise?" Clint called after him, grunting only when Scott tossed a pillow at his face.

Steve shot him a dark look, and took off after Bucky, only just catching the elevator before it closed. "You okay?"

Bucky didn't look at him, giving a stiff shrug. "Yeah. It's fine."

"Buck," Steve huffed. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine.  Just... don't lie."

"I'm not." Bucky replied, a little terse.

Steve gave him a long look.  "You've always been shitty at lying to me, Buck. That's not gonna change anytime soon."

At the tightening of Bucky's shoulders, Steve sighed and held out his hands.

"I'm just trying to say... don't take what Barton has to say to heart." Steve gestured with his head to where Scott and Clint were bickering over the remote.  "He's good at being bitter sometimes. But if push came to shove, he knows better."

Bucky swallowed thickly, and huffed out a little sound. "I know. But, he's not wrong."

"He's not right, either."

Bucky gave a shrug, and moved away a little as the elevator moved. "Maybe not."

"Bucky, just..." Steve sighed as the doors slid open, as Bucky stepped inside. "Don't let someone else tell you how somebody feels. They're usually just blowing wind."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure" Bucky said, a little gruff.

"I'll see you later?"

"I'll be up later, yeah." Bucky told him.

"Okay." Steve nodded, stepping away as Bucky stepped into the elevator.  "Don't brood too much." 

"Do I ever?" Bucky asked, although he didn't want for a reply before he took off toward the elevator. 

* * *

 

The door closed behind him, and Bucky hesitated for a long moment, fingers hovering over the elevator buttons. With some reluctance, he pushed at the button for the top floor, brusque but not unwilling. The elevator started up, rumbling as it took Bucky up the length of the tower. 

The doors slid open again far too soon, and Bucky was left waiting at threshold of Tony's suite, hovering for a moment before he stepped inside. 

"Tony?" A voice called from the bedroom and Bruce stepped out, pulling a shirt over his head. 

Bucky's brows furrowed in, and he moved further into the suite. "Uh. No. Seems we're both looking for the same guy."

“Oh,” Bruce blinked, pushing a flop of damp hair back away from his face; he was freshly shaven from the last time Bucky had seen him.  “No, not really.  I figured Tony would be longer with the press conference and individual interviews.  I thought maybe something had gone wrong.”

Bucky lingered by the elevator.  "I mean, I haven't heard anything about it, so I think it all went okay."

“Good,” Bruce let out a breath and then gestured over toward the kitchenette.  “I was just about to make breakfast.  Would you like to join me?”  

"I--" Bucky started, brows furrowing in a little before he nodded. "So long as it's no trouble."

“Course not.” Bruce padded forward.  “You’re here looking for Tony?” 

Bucky nodded, moving a little closer. "Yeah.”

"He said he hoped to be done before noon," Bruce checked his wrist. "He'll probably weasel his way out earlier."

Bucky huffed out a little laugh. "Yeah, knowing him probably."

"He kinda hates the press."

"Yeah, I've noticed as much." Bucky said, edging closer to him.

"What would you like?" Bruce asked, opening the fridge to reveal the vast array of contents.  "I can make a scramble?" 

"Oh. I don't mind. I'll eat just about anything." Bucky said, shrugging a little. 

"Scramble it is," Bruce reached in, pulling out a carton of eggs and a package of fresh cut turkey bacon.  

He gathered an armful of vegetables out of the bottom drawer, balancing a bell pepper precariously next to an onion. He was setting them on the counter just as the elevator  _ dinged _  and Tony stepped out with a kid no older than sixteen trailing at his side. 

"Hol-y  _ shit _ ," he breathed, eyes on the floor to ceiling windows, and the vaulted roof before he blushed and stammered.  "Sorry, Mr. Stark-- I just-- What I mean is--" 

"Hey," Tony put a hand on his shoulder, the other still wrapped up in a sling.  "Take a deep breath.  You're fine." 

"Right."  He bobbed his head, fingers flexing at his sides, a retro shutter camera draped around his neck.  "Yeah, right, totally." 

Bruce's brows drew upward.  "Tony?" 

"Morning, Bruce." He greeted, gaze finally flitting to them and faltering on where Bucky had sat himself on one of the stools near the counter.  "Bucky." 

Bucky peered at the teenager, and eyed the camera with some suspicion, but ultimately turned his attention to Tony, offering a little smile even as he shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the company. "Good job this morning."

"It was a shit show." Tony deadpanned, then frowned Bruce's way.  "What do you think you're doing?" 

"Cooking?" 

"You're not getting eggs stuck to my nice pans again." Tony shook his head, reaching up to undo the velcro of his sling.  "Take a seat, Parker.  You like omelets?" 

"Never, um.  Never had one." He glanced first at Bucky, smile wobbly, before looking toward Bruce and going very still, eyes going very wide.  

"Care to make introductions, Tony?" Bruce gestured to where the kid was still hovering.  "Or have you lost all common courtesy while I was away." 

"Peter Parker, Dr. Bruce Banner." Tony waved a careless hand.  "Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker."

"Did he have common courtesy before you left?" Bucky asked, shooting Tony an amused look. He moved off the stool, brows furrowed a little as he looked over the boy, tentative as Peter moved closer. 

As Tony brushed by, he offered nothing more in reply than the finger.

Peter, wiping his hands off on his jeans, padded close and held out one of them.  "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Barnes.  Both of you!  Officially." 

Bruce rounded the counter as Tony took his place.  Taking Peter's hand, he smiled and shook it briefly and cast a look over at Tony as he pulled a sharp blade free from a magnet on the wall. 

Bucky eyed Parker for a moment, as if evaluating him. He took the hand Parker offered in greeting, metal plates clicking as his hand moved. "Yeah likewise, kid."

"Are you a reporter?" Bruce asked. 

"Kind-- Yeah, kind of."  Peter nodded his head.  "Mostly I just take pictures."

"I take it you were covering the press conference?" Bruce lifted a brow, sharing a look with Tony.  "You're a bit young." 

"Well," Peter shrugged, shifting from foot to foot.  "Like I said, I mostly just take pictures." 

"Start 'em early, I guess." Bucky shrugged, brushing past to join Tony in the kitchen, the tight line of his shoulders easing with Tony’s constant movement and the island like a barrier between them and the other two occupants of the room. 

Silently, Tony pressed the packet of bacon into his chest and gestured to the stove as he pulled a bell pepper close.  

Bucky took the bacon without any qualms, setting to work without a hint of protest. He glanced at Tony briefly. 

"Y'know, you should probably keep that sling on."

"Can't cook with a sling." Tony muttered.

As he minced the bell pepper he glanced up at where Bruce and Peter settled at the counter.  Peter fidgeted, restless, and offered a tight smile.

"So, kid." Tony looked back down to the cutting board. "You wanted an exclusive, right?"

Tony gestured between the two of them with the point of a knife and Bruce shook his head. "No. Nope. I’m happy to talk off the record, but you know how I feel about speaking to the press."

"Plus, you're still in hiding, right?" Peter asked, voice cracking. "I mean, well... missing."

Bruce looked at Peter. "I already like you more than I like him," he jerked a thumb at Tony.

"He's about as missing as I am dead.”  Bucky said, a smile playing around his mouth as he started to cook the bacon, using his left hand like a spatula when he couldn't find one in the most immediate drawer.

"That's unsanitary." Tony grunted.

Peter rested his elbows forward on the counter between them. "Actually, I think it would be great to talk to you both about what happened in the courtroom. I mean, if you don't mind, Mr. Stark."

Tony shrugged and winced a bit at the movement. "I don't mind."

"It's just--well, you've been kinda tight lipped about what happened, other than what you said about Mr. Barnes not being a, um, risk anymore." Peter's gaze flit between them, and Bruce hid a smile behind his hand at the dry look Tony gave him.

Bucky huffed out a laugh, and glanced up at Parker. "Don't worry kid, I'm not about to go all murder mode anymore. I hope."

"Yeah, but--" he hesitated. "But  _ how _ do you know?"

Tony huffed out a laugh. "Jesus, inquiring minds wanna know, and here I thought you were gonna soft ball us."

Bucky gave a stiff shrug, and looked right at Parker, oddly intense. "I don't.  I'm not sure of it, and I'm never going to be. All this could go to shit in the time it takes to say ten words. Trying not to dwell on it."

"It won't though." Tony replied as he moved to the fridge, pulling out fresh mushrooms. "All go to shit."

Peter canted his head, fingers twitching, like he wanted to write what they were saying down. "How do you know?"

"Our resident witch worked some kinda magic." Tony replied.

"You don't know that for sure." Bucky said, more to Tony than anyone else.

Tony gave him a look as he saddled back up to the cutting board, leaning in slightly.  "I do," he said, gesturing to the pan with his chin. "Don't burn my bacon."

"Don't burn your own bacon." Bucky retorted, jostling the pan to keep everything moving.

Peter was practically chomping at the bit. "So where did you get the souped up arm?  What happened to your old one?"

"Which old one? The old one Hydra gave me or the actual arm?"

"Both?" Peter tried, a bit meek.

Bucky huffed out a little sound; deflective. "I just keep losing arms. It's a real problem.”

"Doesn't help that I blew his last one off." Tony said, glib as he scooped a number of chopped herbs into a small, metal bowl. "But his new one is my handy work."

"I thought you denied that during the hearing." Peter frowned.

"I did."

"Wasn't all that relevant." Bucky shrugged.

Tony offered him a lopsided grin. Then he pulled the carton off eggs toward him, popping it open, and pausing. He moved away as Peter asked something about the lights, dim but apparent, between the plates of Bucky's arm.

He was reaching up into a cabinet. He rocked up onto his toes, arms stretched up for the glass bowl resting on the third shelf, but he faltered halfway.

With a hiss, he jerked, and settled flat on his feet.  He touched his hands to his side, jaw going tight, and he had to bodily rest forward at the sharp pang that rushed through him.  He took one shaky breath and then another. It was Bruce that noticed first, eyes on him while Peter's focus was on Bucky's arm and Bucky's back was to him.

He slid out of his seat, rounding the counter and moving to Tony's side. "Have you taken anything today?" he asked, voice hushed under the  _ cracksizzlepop _ of the bacon being turned over.

"Not enough." Tony grunted.

"So nothing at all." Bruce concluded.

"Then go take something." Bucky said, tone flat as he shot Tony a pointed look.

"I'm fine." Tony assured.

"Tony." Bucky said, something foreboding in his voice even as he set the bacon out to dry on a paper towel.

"Honestly." Tony crossed a finger over his chest.  "I'm fine."

"Grab the bowl then." Bruce crossed his arms.

Bucky grunted out a sound, discontented, but he didn't say anything more, taking the pan off the heat. "Where d'you want this?"

"On the cutting board," Tony said without looking his way.  "Why are you turning this into a thing?" 

"I'm not the one being stubborn and pigheaded." Bruce said. 

"Those two words mean the same exact thing." 

"Yeah, but you're so damn stubborn you need two adjectives for emphasis." Bucky deadpanned.

"Tony, grab the bowl." Bruce repeated.  

"Should I go?" Peter asked, gesturing over to the elevator. 

"You're fine," Tony replied.  

Bruce's jaw flexed.  "Tony.  Grab.  The bowl." 

With a great sigh, Tony eyed where it sat on the top shelf.  "I can't." 

Bucky rolled his eyes, and without effort reached up to grab the bowl Bruce was so intent on getting. "Do I gotta do everything around here?"

"Well, unless you're offering to force feed him painkillers, no." Bruce snatched the bowl from him and set it down on the counter, all irritated lines and sharp movements.  

"I could." Bucky shrugged. "Although, it's not as fun as it looks."

"So," Tony stepped between them, over to the bowl, cracking an egg open into it with one hand.  "Now that that's over, Parker, are you allergic to anything?" 

"Um." He blinked as Tony cracked another egg.  "Not-- No, not anymore." 

"Right," Tony nodded. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Bucky grunted out a little sound, extricating himself from the corner he'd managed to get boxed into, aware of the strange tension Bruce had around him. He raised a brow at Peter. 

"Not anymore? You grow out of it or something?"

"Or something," Peter nodded. "Hey, Mr. Stark, could I-- could I get a picture of you and Mr. Barnes cooking? I think that it would be cool, y'know? For people to see how you interact. To show you doing something not crime-fighty."

Tony blinked up. "Sure, Parker. I don't mind if Long John Silver doesn't."

Bucky eyed Peter with some suspicion, shifting on his feet before he cast a brief glance to Tony, as if looking for reassurance. "Yeah. Yeah. Alright."

Handing the knife over, Tony gestured to the bacon.  "I need a rough chop on those.  Think you can handle that?" 

Bucky gave a shrug and took the knife, setting to work, a little clumsy at first, but slowly familiarizing himself with the task. "Shouldn't be an issue."

As Bucky chopped, Tony whisked, beating the eggs together until all of the yolks were broken.  There was a  _ click _  and a flash, and Tony huffed out a laugh when he glanced up at where Peter stood, Bruce just to his left, a camera in front of his face.  

"This is weird," Tony muttered.  "I've posed for plenty of pictures in my time, but never ones of me cooking." 

"Could be worse." Bucky mumbled.

"Or better," Tony waggled his brows. "Get the butter out of the fridge?"

Bucky shot him a flat look, but moved to the fridge to do as asked, setting the container on the kitchen bench.   Tony took it up and slid a pad into the still warm pan. He shifted it around as it melted, and once it had coated the pan, he poured the eggs out into it.

The rest of the cooking only took a handful of minutes. In the end, they had three omelets, and Peter had a handful of pictures of them in the kitchen together.

"Take a seat," Tiny said, working his tie free. "Enjoy."

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked even as he pulled a plate to himself.

"To get out of this monkey suit.”

Bucky raised a brow at Tony, and after a moment’s hesitation took after him, ignoring the look Peter gave him. 

By the time he made it to Tony's room, Tony had shed his coat and his tie. He was toeing off his shoes and working the buttons if his cuffs loose when he looked up to see Bucky hovering in the door.

"What? Did you come to watch?" Tony asked, focus falling back to his wrists.

Bucky gave a shrug, although there was little interest in his gaze as it passed over Tony. "How'd you meet the kid? You aren't exactly in the habit of inviting the press back here."

"He approached me after the press conference. Seemed nice enough. Pepper wanted me to give all of these solo interviews." Tony replied. "This is me meeting her halfway."

Once the cuffs were loose, Tony began working on the buttons of his shirt front.

"Plus, I knew him from before." He muttered. "Scholarship foundation stuff."

"He's the spider kid, isn't he?" Bucky said. "The one from the airport."

"No idea what you're talking about." Tony turned his back to him, shedding his nice shirt and revealing the mess of tan skin and scars, one stretching across from his shoulder to just above his hip; it looked like a whip mark.

Bucky's brows furrowed in, eyes following the line of scar tissue across Tony's back, but he made no comment on it. "Don't play dumb, I know it's the same guy. Sounds the same."

Tugging a cotton shirt over his head, Tony glanced over his shoulder at him. "Like I said, no idea what you're talking about."

"Tony, come on. Who am I gonna tell?" Bucky said. "I want to know who I'm talking to."

Twisting about as he worked his shirt down over his bandages--a bit bloodied despite their freshness-- Tony huffed out a sigh. "I can neither confirm nor deny that."

Bucky sighed heavily. "Alright. Fine, be like that. But at least get someone to check out your ribs, you're bleeding again."

"Listen, I promised the kid. I honestly can't say anything." Tony grumbled. "And I'm fine."

"Fine my perky ass." Bucky grumbled, pinning him with a look. 

With a snort, Tony moved to brush by.  "My ass is better." 

"Yeah sure, pal." Bucky said.  "I'm not gonna tell anyone about your little spiderling, okay?"

"Good. Keep your mouth shut, m'kay, pumpkin?" Tony pat his shoulder. 

"Yeah, okay, pretty boy." Bucky retorted, shoulder hardly moving when Tony laid a hand on it. 

"Shall we?"

"After you." Bucky said evenly, gesturing to the door. 

Without another word, Tony stepped out and Bucky followed after.

* * *

 

The omelet was everything that Tony had promised.  It was fluffy and salty and the tang of red pepper clung to his tongue longer after Peter had finished eating it.  

It had been dumb luck that he’d been able to sneak into the press conference that morning.  He’d been sort of dazed, at the fringes of the gaggle of reporters, and when it had ended with Virginia Potts taking the helm to answer questions about how the company, while still Tony’s, would not be a part of the processes going forward but would certainly support Mr. Stark in his endeavors, Peter had made his way to the side where Tony was sneaking away from the chaos.  

Then Tony had spotted him, blinked at him, and invited him up after Peter had told him he was writing a piece for The Daily Bugle, offering to give him an exclusive.  Of course, on the way up his private elevator, he talked less about what had happened at the hearing or his plans, and he talked more about the levels of R&D.  Then, almost offhand, he mentioned an internship program he was thinking about developing for young, bright minds. 

“You wouldn’t be interested in that, would you?” he’d asked. 

But before Peter had been able to reply, they’d been at Tony’s suite.  It was floor to ceiling windows and sleek surfaces.  He stepped out and was entranced, jaw embarrassingly slack, as he looked out over the fire place off to the right near the entertainment area, the kitchenette to the left with the bar just behind it, elevated where a glass dining table sat so that it overlooked the city.  Even from where he was just stepping out of the elevator, Peter could see the platform outside where Iron Man could land.

He could have died happy, right then and there.  

Then he spotted Bucky Barnes and Bruce Banner, of all people, and for a long moment he thought maybe he was dreaming or that his vision had gone off again.  Fortunately, that hadn’t been the case.  He had even made small talk,  _ with Dr. Banner _ , over  _ breakfast _ .  

It was after everything was over, after they’d eaten and Tony  _ hadn’t _ eaten but  _ had _ taken some prescription drugs, that he’d strapped his sling back on and gestured for Peter to follow after him.  Camera strapped around his neck, Peter had dusted his hands off and sprung to his feet.

“It was great meeting you, Dr. Banner.” Peter offered a hand and Bruce took it with an amiable smile.  

“You as well, Mr. Parker.” Bruce replied.  “Hopefully we’ll see you again sometime.” 

“Yeah!  Yeah, totally.  That would be—I mean, that would be awesome.” Peter grinned. 

Clapping him on the shoulder, Tony squeezed.  “Of course it would.  Shall we?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Peter turned to Bucky, hand still outstretched.  “Mr. Barnes.” 

“Captain Hook is gonna be joining us on our tour.” Tony replied and Bucky’s brows shot up.

"Will he now?" Bucky asked, looking over them for a moment before he spotted he look on Tony's face. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."

Peter practically bounced on his toes.  “So where are we going?”

“I was thinking I’d show you to the labs.” Tony replied, leading him toward the elevator.  “Sway you to the dark side.”

“No—No swaying necessary, Mr. Stark.” Peter laughed.  “Though, I don’t know what you need to sway me for.”

“The internship.”

“Yeah, again, no real swaying necessary.”

Tony shrugged.  “Well, I’ll show you anyways.” 

"He just likes showing off." Bucky said, lips twitching up a little. 

“That’s very true.”

Laughing, almost nervous, Peter let himself be guided along.  It was only when they reached the seventeenth floor—the floor Tony had specially acquisitioned for the testing of new gear he had in development—that Peter finally became speechless.

He stumbled out when Tony nudged him.  His eyes were wide, his smile wider, and he looked over at Tony over his shoulder, hopeful and eager.

“Go ahead.” Tony gestured.  “Explore.  Create.  Have some fun.”

Peter moved forward, then jerked, twisting around and pulling his camera off from around his neck and offering it up to Tony.  “You mind?”

“Not at all.”

Tony watched as Peter rushed off toward the prototype arrow that one of the bots was working on.  “It’s like having a kid without all of the annoying bits.” 

"Don't get clucky, Tinman." Bucky said, nudging at his side. 

"Easy," Tony winced.  

Bucky cringed a little. "Sorry."

"S'okay." Tony adjusted his sling.  "Not your fault." 

"Don't know my own strength." Bucky mumbled. 

"You'd think after seventy years, you'd've figured it out." Tony replied, mouth twitching. 

"You'd think so." Bucky agreed. 

"So," Tony rocked up onto his toes, eyes tracking as Peter moved toward where he had been developing some more tech for Natasha; Widow's Bite with a bit more bite.  "Why did I find you palling with Bruce?  Planning a surprise intervention?" 

"I was just looking for you." Bucky said, giving a dismissive shrug. 

"Came to critique my delivery?" Tony's tone was glib, but his focus turned to Bucky. 

Bucky didn't look at him. "I just wanted to see you."

Brows drawing in, Tony tilted his head, regarding him for a moment.  "Something happen?"

"No." Bucky said.

"Ah," Tony nodded.  "Course not.  You know the second I get this sling off I'm gonna want you back down in the lab with me so I can finish up my suit.  I'm gonna need someone to do the heavy lifting." 

He turned his gaze back toward the excited way Peter was fiddling with one of the arrow heads.

"I mean, it's not a big deal if you don't want to.  Vision has been helpful, and I always have Dumm-E."

Bucky stilled, looking tentatively at Tony, a smile curving his mouth.  "I'll help you."

"Yeah?" Tony glanced at him.

Bucky's smile only grew, head ducking a little.  "Yeah. I kinda like it."

"Well, then by all means." Tony hid his own smile. "I'd hate to keep you from a bit of fun."

"And I guess someone's gotta keep you out of trouble." Bucky said, something fond in his tone. 

"Or undoubtedly get me into more of it." 

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. That too."

"You know--" Tony cut himself off as the doors behind them slid open, and he twisted about to find Steve stepping out, Thor at his side.  "Hello." 

"Anthony," Thor dipped his head.  "You did a valiant job giving your speech." 

"Yeah, you too, big guy." 

"I hope you do not feel that I overstepped." Thor said. "I simply wished to convey what I thought to be true."

"We can always discuss it.  I'm sure there are far better options than myself." Tony shrugged a shoulder.

"I think you'd do well." Steve said, tone even. 

Tony blinked at him.  "You do?"

"Whole thing was your idea. Makes sense for you to lead it." Steve shrugged. 

"The whole thing was more than just  _ my  _ idea." Tony shook his head. 

"Still." Steve insisted. "This is your thing. You deserve to be in charge."

Wordless, Tony shifted, fingers curling over the camera.  "Are you sure?" 

Steve nodded, confident. "You can do it."

"I agree." Thor nodded.

"You'll do fine." Bucky said.

Tony looked at him, mouth twitching. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, comrade."

Bucky raised a brow at him and grunted. " пожалуйста."

With a snort, Tony jerked slightly, mirth and annoyance twining into one. "Это был сарказм."

"I thought you said you didn't speak Russian." Bucky rebuffed, though he was still smiling, an inside joke that perhaps only Steve would ever get outside of the two of them.

"I'm a chronic liar." Tony grinned. "Ты все еще веришь мне?"

Bucky shot him a look. " конечно."

Blinking, Tony's grin broadened into a crooked little smile. Thor frowned, glancing between them.

"Would there be a reason you would doubt that, Anthony?" he asked.

"Of course not. He just likes to double check." Bucky shot back. 

"I'm self-conscious that way." Tony replied, tone glib. 

"Don't we all know it." Bucky grumbled. 

Tony's lifted a brow.  "Way to be an asshole, Barnes." 

Bucky shot him a grin, all charm. "You knew that already."

"Forgive me," Thor cleared his throat, eyes somewhere beyond Tony's head.  "I do believe your young guest is about to--" 

" _ Ow! _ " 

"Parker!" Tony barked, twisting around a bit too sharply.  "Try not to electrocute yourself, would you?" 

Shaking out his hand, Peter looked over, going still as if he was just seeing who had joined them in the vast workshop.  "Right, yeah.  Sorry-- Sorry, Mr. Stark." 

"Kids." Bucky huffed, vaguely fond as he shuffled closer to Steve. "Decided you'd come down and join the party?"

"Thor was looking for Tony." Steve eyed Peter over Tony's shoulder.  "Who's the kid?" 

"My new intern," Tony said. “Personal one.  The company has plenty.” 

There was a clatter.  Peter scrambled to set the display he'd knocked down up proper, his eyes wide, his hands everywhere. 

"Your new-- I'm your new what?" he asked. 

"Intern.  Personal one." Tony squinted down at Peter’s camera, fidgeting with the lens.  "Do you use this old thing because you like to, or--?" 

Peter was right in front of him, snatching it away.  "It's not that old." 

Brows up, Tony regarded him.  "It's carbon dated.  Do you want something newer?" 

"Do I--?  Yes." Peter blinked, then shook his head.  "Wait. No.  Mr. Stark, what did you mean by personal intern?  Like… working with you?  On this stuff?  Not, like, in the mail room?”  

"I didn't mention that?" 

"No." 

“Oh.” Tony shrugged.  “Only if you’re interested.” 

“I just sort of expected coffee runs and… I mean, you’re telling me I get to work in here?  With you?” 

"You'll get used to him springing things on you." Steve said.  "Guess that means we'll be seeing you around more."

"Yes, sir, Mister-- Well, I mean, Captain Rogers." Peter's gaze flit to him, his lips thinning briefly like he wanted to say something, before spreading into an awkward half smile.  "Sir." 

"Steve's fine." He said, offering Parker a reassuring smile. 

"Peter Parker," he offered his hand. 

"Nice to meet you." Steve said evenly, shaking Peter's hand. 

"Yeah," the kid's voice cracked.  "Totally." 

Steve raised a brow at him, amused as he felt Bucky nudge at his ribs, in the same way he always had when Steve was recognized. He knew without looking that Bucky would be eyeing him with unbridled mirth, and the knowledge set a smile on Steve's face. 

"Congratulations on the internship."

"Thank you," Peter rocked up on his toes.  "It's kinda new.  Like, brand new." 

Clapping Peter on the shoulder, Tony grinned.  "Should probably get you downstairs to security to get you a badge.  Some of my staff are sticklers about badges." 

"That would be great, Mr. Stark." Peter looked up at him.  "And, I mean, I hate to ask-- but this is, like,  _ payed _ , right?" 

"You know, usually I'm the kind of person who doesn't think there are stupid questions--" 

Bucky's brow went up. 

"--but that's a very stupid question, Parker.  Come on.  Let's go."

Bucky watched as they left.  Thor offered Steve and Bucky a polite smile before bowing his head and taking his own leave.  There was a moment of quiet before he brushed at Steve's side. 

"You wanna get out of here?"

"You find what you needed?" Steve asked.

Bucky cast a glance over at where Tony was waving off something Thor was saying as they climbed into the elevator, and then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Steve smiled, his shoulder bumping Bucky's.  "Good." 

* * *

 

On the elevator ride down, Peter would not stop fidgeting, even after Thor had stepped off on the fifth floor to meet with T’Challa.  It had been a surprise—though, not an unwelcome one—to find Peter lingering in the mass of reporters.  He’d stuck out like a sore thumb in the swarm; at first, Tony had wondered just how Peter had managed to slip in with the hoard until he saw his badge with The Daily Bugle smacked over it below Peter’s chicken scratch writing.  When he’d finished making his statements and Peppers had stepped up, Tony had wobbled his way off of the stage and toward an eager line of press, pens at the ready, prepared to smear his name and bleed him for every detail they could get their grubby little hands on. 

Then Peter was there, all bottled lightning and anxious energy, bouncing on his toes.  He held his camera close, like a shield, and peered up at Tony with big eyes. 

It had given Tony one idea; one that fulfilled Pepper’s wishes and the board’s expectations.  Then that idea lead to another, and by then he had his free hand on Peter’s shoulder and was leading him away with a half a dozen promises. 

Now, on the way down to the lobby in his private elevator, Peter was still on tenterhooks and Tony was still relieved to have found him.  Hope, it seemed, was a contagious thing. 

The doors slid open on the floor above where the press conference had been held.  Peter straightened as Pepper stepped in with Happy at her flank.  She faltered, blinking, and then smiled at the sight of them. 

“Tony.” 

“Miss Potts,” his mouth twitched.  “Have you met Peter?” 

She stepped in and, over her shoulder, Happy furrowed his brows and followed.  “I can’t say I have,” she offered a hand. 

Peter took it, but Tony spoke over him before he could babble himself into another respectful stupor, hand falling to Peter’s shoulder again.  “Bright kid from The Bugle.  What do you think about high school internships?” 

“We already have a number of internship programs.” 

“Yeah, but like, for  _ me _ .” Tony grinned. 

Pepper’s chin tilted up; her head slightly over.  Lips pursed, she looked first at Tony, then at Peter.

“I suppose that depends on the capacity.” 

“Science stuff.  Lab work.  The like.” Tony assured, and he already saw the tightness around her eyes and mouth soften; he knew what she was really asking.  “Strictly SI related and maybe a handful of consulting projects for hero tech as necessary.  No field work.  Parker’s a gadget wiz. Won his last three state wide science fairs.” 

Peter shifted from foot to foot, biting back what might’ve been a pleased smile.  “Um.” 

Appeased, Pepper nodded. “Then welcome aboard, Mr. Parker.” 

“Happy to be here?” his gaze flit, uncertainly, up to Tony. 

Tony smiled.  “Seriously, though, let’s get you a badge.” 

The elevator doors opened to the lobby.  Happy had never looked more happy. 

* * *

“He’s a cute kid.” Pepper said as Happy escorted him back through to the security desk, something about fingerprints drifting overhead. 

Tony nodded, plucking at the fraying ends of his sling cuff.  “I mean, cute might be a stretch.” 

Pepper gave him a look. 

He had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling.  “You did good,” he said.  “I didn’t stay for all of it, but FRIDAY says the stock numbers are likely to drive back up to where they were before Sokovia by the end of the week.  The execs should like that.” 

“That’s not  _ just _ me, Tony.  It’s barely me at all.” Pepper crossed her arms, the silk of her dress creasing.  “ _ You _ earned the public support back.” 

“It won’t last long,” he looked up at her; eyes big and mouth thin.  “When Thor and I announce a gaggle of other worldly refugees are touching down, there’ll be an uproar.  I’m sorry.” 

Leaning in, Pepper pressed a slow, sweet, delicate kiss to Tony’s temple.  “We’ll handle it.  We always do.” 

Closing his eyes, Tony savored it.  His side ached, but something in his chest ached more, and he had to swallow past a thickness in his throat. 

Then they parted.  Pepper reached up, thumb brushing away the stain of her lips that lingered on his skin.  Her fingers carded through his hair, mussing it, and then flitted, like moths drawn to light but already singed enough to know better.  She pulled her hand back to herself.  She smiled at him; he returned it.

“I love you,” he said. 

“I know.” 

“Don’t Han Solo me.” 

Pepper bit back her smile.  “You’d make a lovely princess, Tony.” 

“I’m finding a new CEO.” 

“One that will help you plan a last minute tech Expo celebrating “exploration and innovation” to cover up the shit storm on its way all while managing a Fortune 500 company and developing a new relief organization to clean up after your forays into superherodom?” Pepper took her phone out as it buzzed, typing in a quick reply as she continued to talk.  “Good luck with that.” 

Tony rolled his eyes.  “I did the great majority of the grunt work for that program, and I have been neck deep in international bureaucratic bullshit in order to prep the earth for intergalactic politics while also putting up with Stars, Spangles and Co for the last three months to prep for all-out war, thankyouverymuch.”  

The smile that earned him was blinding.  “Yes.  Yes, you have.  You also have a meeting with Rhodey and his contact at NASA in fifteen minutes.” 

She showed him her phone.  On it was an alert from FRIDAY. 

“I’m proud of you,” she added after a moment, voice hushed.  “Bar the incessant life threatening events.” 

Tony’s nose wrinkled.  “You wanna go to that meeting for me?  Rhodey is still mad about the whole getting shot and then sneaking out of the hospital thing.” 

“No.” Pepper offered a smile that Tony recognized as the one she used when she was trying, and failing, to be not amused.  “Go.  I’ll finish up here with Mr. Parker and have Happy give him a ride home.” 

“You complete me,” Tony said even as he backed away toward the door that lead out into the main lobby.  “And, uh.  He might not  _ need _ a ride home.” 

Twisting after him, Pepper frowned.  “What does that mean?” 

“Make sure he knows to report in next Saturday to help set up some tech demonstrations for the Expo.” Tony called back, quickly making his escape out of the opaque glass door before Pepper could ask anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship. Bucky found friendship. 
> 
> Fuck, this story needs to get to the action-y bits before you all begin to think I'm just a giant sap.


	17. Chapter 16: Sweet Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning and plotting.

Come the following morning, it seemed as though the entire world had exploded with new and old information about the Barnes hearing, about Secretary Ross’ blatant corruption as coincidentally confirmed in all of its horrific glory on Wikileaks that same day, and about Tony Stark and his role in protecting criminals that the public no longer viewed as criminals.  The international coverage appeared both the most scathing and the most forgiving.  They were painting the headlines with Tony’s name, picking apart his actions, but that was nothing that Tony was unfamiliar with.   _ Good Morning Britain _ did a particularly adept job of heavily implying that Tony was so back-and-forth on the Accords because of some well-hidden conspiracy worthy emotional debilitation; they did not tip toe around the public’s long held belief that he suffered from some sort of borderline personality disorder or sociopathy that stemmed from severe daddy issues, despite the fact that such disorders did not spring out of nowhere in such a manner and Tony certainly had never been diagnosed as such. 

_ The Washington Post _ ran a front page piece hailing Tony’s shady dealings for protecting America and her favorite heroes despite the egg it would leave on his own face.  They heralded his decision to unveil the gruesome bride that was Ross to the public, going so far as to group Tony with Snowden.  There was even a graphic cartoon included in the article that pictured Uncle Sam as a groom, a caricature of Tony objecting in the foreground, and a ghastly depiction of a Grendel or Gollum-like figure in a wedding gown with a name plaque reading “Secretary Ross” over its left breast. 

Pop news sites like Buzzfeed and Cracked ran articles, comics, forums, and polls on everything from “World’s Hottest Heroes: The Surprising List” to interactive quizzes on what Avenger you’d best match with and why.  Reddit nearly cracked itself open discussing the nuances of the Sokovia Accords that were recently released for public consumption due to demand, and there was thread upon thread dissecting the verbiage of the policies under Section 5. 

It was a lot like when he’d revealed himself to be Iron Man.  There was doubt, there was hate, but mostly there was a blinding and overwhelming support from the people who had  _ always _ supported the idea of a small group of fantastic people laying themselves on the line for the rest of them. 

Tony was in the middle of watching a Youtuber break the situation down for his audience in the most unbiased way possible before stating his own opinions—mostly good ones—on the matter as he transitioned into the next news segment and asked for feedback.  It was effective, and it was why Tony was scrolling through the comments below when the elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out onto the fifth floor—the one specifically reserved for meetings such as this. 

“Tony,” Tony glanced up at where Steve was straightening, like he’d been waiting there for more than a minute.  “You’re late.” 

“You’re surprised?” Tony tucked his phone away. 

Steve almost seemed to smile.  “Natasha is inside with Colonel Rhodes and his guest.  T’Challa is waiting.”

“Our resident April Fool’s joke?” 

There was a shimmer, like heat waves on asphalt.  Then Loki was there, all leather and armor, and Steve’s jaw set.  Loki eyed the pair of them, brows up, and his gaze lingered over the casual press of Tony’s jeans and the familiar Black Sabbath shirt.  His mouth twitched and his clothes shimmered in a similar way to his appearance until he was cloaked in something less like he was preparing for battle. 

“You didn’t mean me, did you?” he asked. 

Steve shifted, hands flexing. 

Brow up, Tony regarded him with an unimpressed air that rivaled Natasha’s.  “You’re the only joke I see here.” 

“Such acrimony so early.” Loki’s entire face curled into something like delight. 

“Tends to happen when people don’t like you,” Tony shrugged, stepping by to press through a clouded glass door.  “Remind me why we invited you to this particular illuminati meeting and not your brother?”

“Please,” Loki rolled his eyes, following close as they filed into the room.  “Thor thinks more with his fists.  You’ll need my mind if you intend to succeed.” 

“Peachy,” Tony’s face lit up suddenly and brightly, the change abrupt and Steve seemed a bit taken aback by it, by the switch in gears, the change into handling mode that he did not often see the transition of.  “Everyone, welcome, thanks for coming.  Introductions?” 

From her seat at the far end of the conference table, Natasha glanced between the three of them.  “Probably wise.” 

“Well, we all know who I am.” Tony rounded toward the head of the table, three people sat and waiting, and he tapped something into the glass of it where there was a keyboard glowing just under the surface until a projection flitted to life at the other end of the room.  “ _ That _ is the King of Wakanda.  And we’re all here.  So my work is done.” 

Rhodey, sat across from Natasha, cast him a chiding look. 

Steve eyed Tony for a moment, almost scathing before he moved on, gaze falling on the woman sat on Rhodey's right. 

There was silence for a split second before she spoke, inclining her head politely in greeting. "Carol Danvers, I'm with NASA."

"Pleased to meet you." Steve said, expression softening slightly as he regarded her. He glanced up to the screen that allowed T'Challa to join them, and offered a brief smile before schooling his expression back to formality. "Now that everyone's with us, we should get started."

“First thing’s first,” Tony dragged a finger over the table and the holographic projection of T’Challa slid over to make room for the two glowing red beacons in vast contrast to the blue of the earth.  “Xandarians.  We have two locations to place them.  Your highness?” 

“Wakanda is prepared to greet the outsiders and provide shelter to them.” T’challa nodded.  “Though, I am uncertain where we will house the Nova Corps and their ships.” 

Deft fingers zoomed in on one of the beacons as it blinked resting on the cusp of the Florida panhandle.  Tony brought up one image.  Then another.  A mess of green surrounded by water and thick marshes.  

Natasha leaned forward, elbows on the table, her brows up.  “Abandoned property?” 

“Privately owned.” Tony replied.  “By me, not the company.  The two need to remain separate.  Just in case.” 

Rhodey grunted, like he might protest.  “You  _ bought _ an island?” 

“I bought three.” Tony spread out the image to show the entire property; a span of stats spread over the serene bayou scene.  “60 acres.  Plenty of space to house ships and aliens.” 

“We calling them aliens?” Rhodey asked. 

“Xandarians.” Loki said, before anyone else could determine otherwise.  “Grouping all other worldly beings under an umbrella term would prove… problematic.” 

Tony lifted a dry brow.  “You’d know,” he said but nodded.  “Xandarians.” 

“The majority of them will seek refuge in Wakanda. My people are familiar with housing the homeless.” T’Challa shared a look with Steve.  “I assume you will take on the remaining few along with those of their military.” 

“Loki,” Tony met his gaze.  “How many of the Nova Corps are taking shelter elsewhere?” 

“At least half remain behind in order to rebuild,” Loki replied.  “Another quarter are elsewhere in surrounding realms—close enough to support when it is time.” 

“Then we’ll take what remains here,” Tony nodded, jaw flexing.  “Though, I assume there will be an ambassador or two of their people to stay here in the Tower.” 

"Nova Prime has organized a delegation to be sent to earth, yes." Loki told them. "She will remain with the bulk of her people, but the group she has selected will be most interesting."

"Interesting?" Steve asked, dubious. 

"Their leader was born on earth."

Natasha’s head tilted just so.  “Are they aware they’re from earth?” 

"Indeed, he is." Loki said. 

"And he lives with the Xandarians?" T'Challa asked. 

Loki shook his head, lips twitching in amusement. "He's a career criminal. He usually avoids Nova Corps."

"And yet they picked him as ambassador," Tony muttered, grin slow.  "I like him already."

"He understands earth culture better than any other Xandarian. And he looks familiar." Loki added, sharing a glance with Tony for a brief moment.

"If the Xandarians think he's their best representative, then we will have to trust their judgement." T'Challa said.

"The fact that there's a human already in contact with them will certainly help smooth things over," Natasha added.  "We'll house them here?" 

"That's the idea," Tony nodded.  "How will they be arriving?" 

"They have a ship." Loki said. 

"How big we talking?" Carol asked.

"Reasonably large. Enough to carry half a dozen people comfortably."

She turned to Tony. "Do you have facilities to house something like that?"

"The Compound does," Tony nodded.  "And if it didn't, I could work something out.  But it should be enough." 

"Then we'll route them there." Carol said. 

"Might be a good idea to keep them secure there if things go south." Steve added. "We can't guarantee how people will take this."

"How many of them are there?" Tony asked. 

"The Guardians are comprised of five beings." Loki told him.  "None of whom will require alternate atmosphere or other aides."

"We'll keep them here," Tony said decidedly.  "If the worst happens, then we'll move them.  But the Compound won't stop the government from attempting to seize them any more than the Tower will." 

"I don't think it'd be wise of them to take in the delegation." Steve said, fingers laced together in front of him. "People are going to notice. They're going to talk."

"Only if they  _ know _ ," Tony's mouth pressed thin.  "The risk of playing things so close to the chest is when everything falls apart, no one is there to help clean up the mess-- not because they don't want to but because they don't  _ know _ ." 

Natasha huffed out a breath.  "He's right.  If we play it like they're just shiny new visitors, if we keep the _  how many _ , the  _ who _ , the  _ where _  all secret?  They might not get a chance to be outraged." 

"But if we don't," Rhodey added.  "Then we risk there being no support at all, and then we'll have no help from the Nova Corps and a load of refugees with nowhere to go." 

"Some people just aren't going to like it. No matter how we play it." Carol said. "But if we can get enough people talking about it, it'll work out."

"If we get people excited about it, even better." Tony nodded. "Hence the Expo."

"Which will work how, exactly?" Steve asked. 

"The Expo isn't about refugees from outer space. It's about celebrating technology and innovation, while inviting otherworldly individuals and what we can teach each other. Having Thor there will help--everyone loves him." Tony said.

Loki's jaw flexed. "As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. Having Thor present with a few of his merry band of idiotic warriors will help increase the acceptance of new otherworldly individuals."

"Too bad the welcome mat won't roll out for you." Natasha said flatly, pinning Loki with a stare. 

Steve's lips twitched, but he was quick to speak, before things could escalate. "And when enough people are interested, the idea is that they won't mind the refugees?"

"The idea is that it will be too late for them to mind," Tony said.

Loki hummed. "And by the time that happens, the majority of them won't mind that they're refugees because you've brought value to them as a people. Ingenious."

"Was that a complement?" Tony's brows drew together.

Loki's expression curled again, all delight and mischief. "Perhaps. Would you like another?"

"Moving on." Steve said, casting a dubious look Loki's way. "Where are we on the Thanos front?"

"He's expected to be here within the next three months." Loki replied, offering a frown his way.

"That's all you've got?"

Loki lifted a brow. "He's fond of experimenting. I wonder what he'd find inside of you, Captain. He does like taking things apart."

Steve met his gaze without flinching. "He'll have to get in first."

"At this point it will be easy," Loki sneered.

"You didn't seem to have any luck before." Steve rebuffed.

"That was with a portal." Loki's expression darkened. "He will not be as limited."

"Because you're the expert on earth invasions." Steve said, turning away from him, and towards Tony. "You're still set on making a space suit?"

"Orion is halfway finished." Tony nodded.  "Danvers. Amaze me with your aerial space knowledge."

Carol's lips twitched up, amused before she sobered again. "You mentioned wanting to thin down their numbers, right?"

"Keep 'em funneled in the atmosphere." Tony nodded.

She paused for a moment, contemplative. "If we have the Nova Corps fleet on our side, then we should be able to keep Thanos' fleet contained. Depending on its size."

"Not to mention the Helicarriers once they breach," Natasha added.

"How many do you have?" Carol asked.

"One," Natasha's mouth pressed thin.  "Officially." 

"Another four." Tony added, pulling up the plans for them.  "Unofficially, of course.  That doesn't include the aircrafts on them." 

"Well. That's better than I was expecting." Carol said evenly. "We can work with that."

"We have the numbers to thin them down before they ever touch the surface," T'Challa nodded his agreement.  "What about those that make it?" 

"That's where things get a little more complicated." Steve said. "We're hoping to channel them somewhere uninhabited to lessen the possibility of civilian casualties."

"Could always buy another island," Tony frowned to himself. 

"Tony," Rhodey blew out a breath.  "You don't have to  _ buy _  everything." 

Steve shot Tony a look, exasperated. "Don't buy another island."

"Options, then." Tony made a sweeping gesture with his free hand.  "Since you're both so keen on keeping me from impressing Commander Danvers over here." 

"Colonel." Rhodey said, looking pointedly at Tony. "She's a colonel."

"Colonel Danvers," Tony amended.  "Even better." 

"There's got to be free land somewhere we can use." Steve said, glancing at Carol briefly. "Military owned, maybe government property."

"There are a few spaces I can think of." Carol said. "I'll make some calls."

"Good plan." Tony nodded. "Strategy?"

"Don't die." Natasha suggested drolly. 

T'Challa snorted, then attempted to hide it with a wry smile. "Miss Romanoff makes a valid point. But perhaps some with a little more specificity is in order?"

"It'll all depend on what Thanos is bringing with him.”

Tony glanced toward Loki, expectant and fidgeting. The line of Loki's shoulders drew tight.

"He will certainly have the Chitauri with him." Loki admitted.

The left side of Tony's face twitched. There was something like a grimace, or perhaps a grin, and he glanced down at the table. He tapped something in as Loki continued.

"The Other, from what I understand, is gone." Loki canted his head just so, eyes narrowing. "Though Thanos has recruited others. Specifically, a sorceress of Asgard and her plaything."

"Known weaknesses? Countermeasures for, what, magic?" Tony asked without looking up.

"Skurge can be handled with pure brute force." Loki said. "Amora herself will take far more than that."

"So we put the big muscles in handling this Scorch dude," Rhodey leaned forward. "Would be great if Banner was around."

Tony bit the inside if his cheek, then offered one of those tight smiles. "It would be."

"This Amora character worries me. We don't really deal in magic, except maybe Wanda." Steve said, more thinking aloud than he was addressing anyone.

"What about these Guardians? Do they have someone who could deal with her?" Natasha asked.

"Gamora is a powerful foe. She was once one of Thanos' key enforcers." Loki nodded with some reluctance.

"So, you're familiar with her?" Steve asked.

"Familiar is a relative term," Loki cast a sharp smile his way. "Mostly, I'm familiar with her reputation."

"But you know enough about her to know what she's capable of?" Steve asked, a little sharp.

"She could dispatch half the people in this room without a weapon," Loki's eyes narrowed. "Imagine what she could do to you all with one."

"Pray she doesn't get one, then.  And be grateful she’s on our side.” Steve mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. "What do you propose we do?”

"I can  _ deal _ with Amora." Loki's chin tilted up. "The rest of your focus should be on Thanos. It will take all of your resources to end him, if you can even manage that."

"Leave that to us." Steve said.

"And risk his wrath if you lose?" Loki's brows drifted up slow. "I'd rather hear the details, thank you."

"Good thing we don't plan on losing, then." Steve said flatly.

"Alright," Tony held up his hands, looking as if there was irritation hovering somewhere at the back of his mouth, threatening to choke him. "Enough. Let's  _ actually _ discuss strategy. I'm talking strengths, weaknesses, flight patterns. Who pairs well together? Who enhances who and how?"

T'Challa hummed, hands folding in front of him. "I will have Kasumba send the stats of Wakanda's sojas your direction. We are at our most fearsome on the ground."

"Then that's where you'll be," Tony pulled up a new screen, fingers flying, notes and a range of statistics appearing before their small council. "Romanoff."

Natasha's brow drew up.  "Stark."

"Can you test endurance, skill set, speed? I need a range of tacticals for FRIDAY to analyze. Give us the brightest and best options." Tony muttered.

Natasha sat back in her chair. "I'll start this afternoon. Steve should be there."

Tony glanced up at him. "Steve?"

Steve's attention fell back on Tony, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. "Yeah. Of course. We can do that."

"Good," Tony nodded, tone clipped, gaze flitting to Carol.  "And my darling eyes in the sky?" 

A flush crept up Carol's cheeks, unbidden. "I'll keep a weather eye on the stars."

"Notify Rhodes if you spot anything unusual," Tony and Rhodey shared a tight smile.  "I think that's all for today.  Until we have more from our incoming allies, there's not much else than to prepare." 

Carol and Natasha were the first to stand.  Pushing to his feet, unsteady and careful, Rhodey followed. 

"I'll excuse myself for now, Mr. Stark." T'Challa said.  "I will keep you updated on the status of the Accords as soon as I am aware of any changes." 

"I'd appreciate it," Tony nodded as T’Challa signed off.  "Loki, if you could stay behind?  I have business to discuss." 

Steve and Natasha shared a look, equally suspicious as they eyed Loki off, leaving him alone with Tony. Their shared discomfort with the god didn't waver as they went their separate ways, leaving only Tony and Loki left in the conference room.

In the quiet that was left, Tony's fingers flew over the board beneath the glass.  He pulled up a number of schematics for what looked like armor, and then what Loki eventually recognized as a new suit.  Tony glanced up, furtive, and then let the schematic spread like webbing across the table.

"Advice." Tony muttered.  "I need some." 

Loki leaned in, amused, elbows on the glass table top. Curiosity tinged the edge of his expression, eyes only for Tony as his attention withdrew from the schematics. "And you think I'll somehow be able to help why?"

"You know most about Thanos and you've used this," Tony pulled up an image of the cube--the Tesseract-- and lifted a brow. "Can we use it? To take him down?"

Loki paused for a moment, eyes moving over the projection of the Tesseract. "Theoretically, yes. But getting it near enough to him to cause damage has several risks.”

"Name them."

"A mortal could not harness its power safely, successfully." Loki told him, a brow hitching, somehow accusatory. "It is also one of the six Infinity Stones. I'm sure my brother has already attempted to explain them to you. If Thanos should come to possess all six Stones, no force in the universe could stop him."

"We would try," Tony replied. "But the Tesseract, it  _ can _ be harnessed? Maybe not by a mortal, but within something? Like your staff housed the Mind Stone.  And I’m not talking harnessing its  _ energy _ like Hydra did.  I’m talking about using the Stone itself."

"A vessel could be built, yes." Loki admitted. "Such containers have been created for Infinity Stones on many occasions."

"With what material?" Tony asked, words lilting out in rapid succession.  "Are we talking about shit I can get my hands on here on earth or do I have to go space geo-caching in order to guild something that could hold an Infinity Stone long enough for me to use it?   _ Can _  I use it?  The Tesseract, I mean.  What does it even do?  What-- is it an element?  An aspect?  A  _ force _ ?-- does it control?" 

"It is the Space Stone. Such things do not fall into the insignificant categories you have created for things." Loki said. "A single Infinity Stone is more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You do not use it, so much as it allows you to wield its power for a time."

"Okay." Tony's head dipped in the semblance of a nod, and he brought up the complete plans for a suit—including the core where a power source might sit. "Think this can take it?"

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Possibly, yes."

"What would make it better?"

Loki gestured to the center of the suit. "I doubt this will be sufficient to channel the power of the Tesseract. Such things are beyond human capabilities."

"Not even Vibranium?" Tony pulled up the metal-- or what was left of the ore after developing Bucky's arm-- and the formulaic elements that made up its body. 

There was silence for a moment. "It would be able to contain the Tesseract for a time.  Though, for how long, I cannot say.  It has certainly lasted for the Mind Stone."

"I can work with that," Tony nodded.  "I need details.  On the Stones.  Thanos has two, we have two, but there's another pair out there somewhere and we need to locate them-- and I need to know what they can do.  What are we up against?" 

"My brother informed you of the function and history of the Stones, yes?" Loki asked, continuing on when Tony nodded. "Individually they are of great power, weapons to create or destroy certain aspects of the world at the users will." 

Loki paused for a moment, and leveled Tony with a look that was equally accusing as it was amused. "I hear you and Doctor Banner are familiar with the creative capacity of the Mind Stone."

"More than," Tony hardly looked chided. "Not as intimately as Clint, mind you, from when you made him your dancing monkey with the thing. Not for a lack of trying on your part."

Loki's lips twitched up, but he otherwise refused to take the bait. "Then you must understand the allure of that kind of power and the danger of having more than one at your disposal."

"I can understand it." Tony nodded.  "Can appreciate, even. But I won't have more than one, and I'll only have it long enough to use it once."

"But if my brother’s vision is correct, you'll have one of the last Stones that Thanos will need to complete the set." Loki replied, tone even and measured. "And the Mad Titian has swayed stronger men than you."

"The Mind Stone couldn't sway me." Tony replied. 

"Thanos has other ways, I can assure you." 

"What's he gonna do? Threaten to kill all of my loved ones?" Tony's face scrunched up. "News flash, he'll do it anyway."

"That could work on some of your comrades, but I doubt that would be your weak point." Loki said evenly. 

Tony canted his head up.  "What is my weakness then?"

"Power." Loki said simply, as if it was the most obvious answer. "You might say that you'll only ever use it for good, but ultimately your weakness is power."

Tony's brow shot up, and for a moment, it seemed like he might agree.

Then he laughed.  He laughed loud, bending over at the waist, hand on his belly.

Loki raised a brow at him, but a smile curled his lips, a sinister edge to it. "I'm glad I can amuse you."

"Oh, ow.  _ Ow _ ." Tony wheezed, pressing a hand to his side, eyes welling as he tried to swallow his own mirth. "Oh, you're gonna make me pull my stitches."

There was a moment of stillness before Loki rose to his feet, smooth, and with unnatural grace. A few short strides had him rapidly encroaching on Tony's space, suddenly mere inches between them. Without so much as a whisper in warning, Loki let a hand move to brush at Tony's cheek, carrying a soft gold light with it. From another, the gesture might have been comforting, but now it carried a sharp undertone, as if somehow dangerous.

With a jerk, Tony moved to step back, jarring one of the office chairs until it wheeled away and he had to try and balance himself with a hand on the tabletop.  His eyes went wide at the sudden rush—like ice and then like heat, exploding just under the pinpoints of Loki’s fingertips, and it needled its way across his cheek and down the side of his neck.  For a moment, Tony lost all the sensation in his mouth; he clenched his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath.  Then, in a flood that was almost painful, he  _ felt light _ burn under his skin.  

It was so similar to having the arc reactor back in his chest that it nearly made him buckle. 

There was a deep tingling, like limbs waking up, and then a dash of agony.  He grunted and pulled back, pressing his hand harder to his side.  It was a lot like wrapping thread around the tip of a finger, letting it purple, and then allowing the blood to all rush back into it.  And then it was gone. 

“What the fuck was that?” Tony spat, wrinkle forming between his brows. 

"You won't have to be concerned with stitches anymore. An incredibly primitive way to deal with injury." Loki said simply, lingering for a moment too long before he pulled away and returned his attention to the suit designs Tony had projected. "Now that you no longer have to work at half speed, we can start looking into harnessing the Tesseract."

Tony faltered and then fumbled for a moment, working the strap of his sling loose and tossing it aside in order to peel his shirt up.  He tugged a reddened bandage free, eyes widening a fraction before narrowing at the sight of smooth, unblemished skin.  He touched his fingertips to it and then peered back up at Loki. 

“Enemy of my enemy and all that rot?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a reply as he pulled his shirt back down.  “Remember, we’re not harnessing it—we’re housing it.  Until the perfect moment.”

Loki eyed him for a moment, equal parts curious as it was assessing, gazing lingering a moment too long. "Noble intentions. But you are aware of the ramifications?"

“Fully.” Tony nodded, lifting a brow and meeting his gaze.  “Think a power hungry warmonger like me can pull it off?” 

"If any mortal could, it will be you." Loki said, brow quirking just so.

Tony made a face—some combination of curiosity and something a bit perturbed that would otherwise be impossible on any other face.  “That sounds a lot like another complement.” 

Loki leveled him with a look, something dark playing around the edges of his gaze. "Perhaps it was."

Tony’s eyes narrowed again.  “Sweet of you.  Now, what can you tell me about the abilities of the Stones our friendly neighborhood purple dinosaur has?” 


	18. Chapter 17: Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something blatantly obvious is laid bare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of PTSD and coping mechanisms.

Bucky hadn't been expecting company when he stepped into the elevator, lulled into a solitary kind of peace. Some coaxing from Wanda had him taking the short trip down to the communal kitchen; not half way down, the elevator stopped. 

With purposeful strides, Natasha stepped in, Steve close behind. Steve shot him a smile, and moved to settle by Bucky's side. Natasha nodded a greeting, but didn't make a move to change her conversation. 

"I want to get Vision and Wanda working together more," she said, looking up at Steve. 

He inclined his head, paused for a moment as he considered the offer. "They certainly make a good match. Might take some adjustment, but I think we have time."

Natasha nodded in satisfaction, and then turned her attention on Bucky. "Y'know, we'd be better off with another person on the ground."

Bucky shifted on his feet, and his eyes darted elsewhere. Beside him, Steve stiffened a little, but Bucky spoke up before he could say anything in defense. "I'll think about it. Maybe I'll come down one day."

"We'll need you," Natasha said. "We'll need everyone."

"I said I'd think about it." Bucky told her, an edge creeping into his tone. 

Natasha took a breath. "I know. But if you spend too much time thinking about it, you won't have enough time to start preparing for it. You should at least start practicing. Getting back in shape. Even I would be rusty after six months."

"Good thing I'm not you." Bucky grunted, pushing past to walk out when the elevator doors opened. 

Steve shot Natasha an apologetic look.  "He'll come around eventually."

"He better--" Natasha cut herself off as music poured out of the commons and into the elevator, and her brow ticked up. "Is there a party we should know about?" she asked, stepping out after Bucky where he had stopped abruptly to watch as Thor paused in setting the table with Jane.

He looked up, waving a big hand. "You're early to dine, friends."

Jane's mouth twitched as she skirted by Thor to adjust the placement of the plate he'd set down off center of the mat. "Dinner's almost ready."

Bucky cast a glance over to where Wanda was intricately folding napkins to sit beside the plates. She raised a brow at him, and then pointedly glanced to Jane and Thor. He shot her a flat look, but made his way over to the pair, unused to the extra company. 

He inclined his head in greeting, but negated to offer Thor the one armed hug that Steve had, lips quirking just so when Jane smiled at him. "Miss Foster, Thor. Didn't think you'd be joining us."

"Well, when Thor told me who was cooking, I couldn't pass up the opportunity." Jane smiled brightly.  "I've heard great things." 

Natasha sidled up to her usual spot, taking the ready and waiting glass of wine with a nod of her head toward Thor.  "And who is cooking?" she asked before humming around a sip. 

Scott opened the door and Vision walked out, holding a decadent looking bowl full of Israeli couscous; hints of red and green and warm browns within it.  Even from where he was standing, Bucky could make out the scent of rosemary. 

"Who, Vision?" Steve asked, dubious as he tried to peer over Bucky's shoulder, casting a belated glance to the android. "No offence, pal."

"None taken, Captain." Vision said amicably, setting the bowl on the dining room table. "Cooking is not something I have yet mastered. Mister Stark, however, is quite proficient."

Bucky's brows furrowed in. "Tony's in there?"

"Yeah, he's just finishing putting this sear on a steak," Scott nodded, eager, letting out a little groan. "Smells like the best thing I've ever eaten and I haven't even eaten it yet."

"I hope he made plenty." Bucky said. "I forgot to eat breakfast."

"Bucky." Steve said, and Bucky could almost see the concerned little furrow between his eyebrows. Bucky waved a dismissive hand, and moved to peer into the kitchen properly, passing through the door without much warning. 

The kitchen smelled like garlic and spice.  By the stove, flame probably too high, Tony stood with his back to the door—using a pair of tongs to flip over a large looking cut of Châteaubriand, a bottle of wine hanging from his other by his hip.  Off to the side, there was a platter lined delicately with large prawns; each one looked carefully placed and there were sprigs of rosemary placed here and there.  Tony was barefoot. 

He didn’t look up from where he was searing one side of the piece of meat—a large piece—and as it bled into the pan it sizzled and cracked.  “Scotty, if you try to steal  _ one more shrimp _ , I’ll cut off your fingers and feed ‘em to the dogs.” 

“You don’t have any dogs,” Scott chimed from the doorway.  

Tony finally looked back, brows pulled in a way that communicated his amusement as much as it said  _ back off _ ; his gaze brightened when he spotted Bucky.  “Terminator, come on in, join the party.” 

"One day I'll get you to stop with the assassin jokes." Bucky mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. He edged forward just slightly and looked Tony over with a curious kind of interest. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion." Tony smiled.

Bucky eyed him for a moment, but didn't argue. "Didn't know you could cook."

"I've made you an omelette." Tony frowned.

"Totally different ball game." Bucky retorted.

Tony snorted. "Make yourself useful and take that shrimp out. Make sure Scott and Thor keep their hands to themselves. We've got another ten minutes before the turf in our surfnturf are done mooing."

Bucky grunted out a sound, but complied without further protest, picking up the plate Tony had gestured to. "You're gonna put that sling back on after you're done right? Or do I have to wrestle you into it?"

"Don't need it." Tony dipped down to check on the steaks cooking in the oven.

Bucky's brows furrowed in, and his eyes narrowed. "Don't start that shit with me again."

Tony laughed, glancing up at him. "I'm serious. I don't need it, Buckaroo."

Bucky's expression didn't soften in the slightest. "What happened?"

"Some faith, hope, and pixie dust." Tony straightened. "I'm all healed, minor abrasions aside."

Bucky stared for a moment longer, as if trying to puzzle out how exactly Tony had made such a recovery. "Alright, Peter Pan. Just... take it easy, maybe?"

"Will do, Captain Hook." Tony gave a two fingered salute that turned into a goading wave.  "Now get outta here. Make sure no one's fucking with that Israeli salad."

Bucky shot him a flat look, but left without further protest, carrying the plate with him.

As he came out, Steve lifted a brow, extracting himself from one of Thor's battle epics, moving close. He watched as Bucky set the tray down.

"Tony?" he asked. 

"Believe it or not, yeah." Bucky said, shooting Scott a look when he hovered around the dinner table. "Guess he's in a domestic mood."

Steve hummed, nodding slow. "He gonna be in there much longer?"

Bucky shrugged a little. "Maybe another ten. Why?"

"Nothing," Steve smiled, a bit thin around the lips that said something like  _ I'll tell you later _ . "I just need to have a word with him."

Excusing himself, Steve stepped away, pushing through the kitchen door.

Bucky' brows furrowed in, but he let Steve go without further question, gaze lingering for a moment before he returned his attention to the crowd that had gathered. Conversation passed amicably for a few moments, and after having to glare Scott away from the shrimp twice, Bucky cast a glance back to the kitchen. It had fallen suspiciously quiet in there, and something about it had his shoulders drawing back as he turned his head to listen. 

He lingered by the table for a moment longer before he moved away, crossing the dining room to open the kitchen door.

"--and how could you be so reckless?" Steve's voice was sharp, his expression twisted up in a familiar way, the same one Bucky had been on the end of a hundred times.

Tony seemed to bristle. "It was reckless letting myself get healed? I'm back at top game, Cap, right when we need it most."

"At what price?" Steve snapped. "Loki is  _ dangerous _ , Tony.  You  _ know _ that."

"Just like I'm dangerous,  _ Steven _ ?" Tony's tone dipped; frigid and harsh.

"You know what I mean." Steve retorted, tone sharp. "He's completely unpredictable, and you know it."

"Y'know. The parties out there if you two want to provide entertainment." Bucky said, casting them both an unimpressed look.

Tony held up a middle finger in reply. "Unpredictable and dangerous. Gee, Cap that sounds like an awfully familiar tune you're whistling."

Steve’s shoulders grew rigid, and a tension drew his spine tight. Bucky knew the tempestuous look on his face anywhere, and before things could escalate any further, he moved to stand between them, casting Steve a warning look. 

"That's enough. Both of you."

Tony actually shuffled closer, chin tilting up. "Oh, but we were just starting to get along, weren't we, Cap?"

"Y'know, I thought we were." Steve replied, tone even and steady but not without bite. "Clearly I was wrong."

Tony bared his teeth. "Right, because a couple of awkward conversations and tactical planning suddenly makes us best friends again--oh, wait. I was wrong about that then too, wasn't I?"

Steve's jaw ticked tight, and for a moment it looked like he was going to advance further into Tony's space, only the hand Bucky curled around his wrist keeping him in place.

"Are you two done?" Bucky asked, meeting Steve's eyes for a moment before he sent a pointed look Tony's way. 

"Yeah, Stevie, are we done?" Tony lifted a brow, one of those shark smiles curling over his face.  "Or did you wanna make space on the nearest table and choke me out again in righteous fury?"

Bucky raised a brow and glanced back at Steve, who'd looked away, something like shame coloring his expression. 

"I'll admit, I regret that." He said, a furrow between his brows.

"Regret what?" Bucky asked.

"Your boy has some serious anger issues." Tony jerked back slightly, moving to pull the pan of steaks out of the oven, movements sharp and stilted as he slammed it shut again. "Granted, I'm not one to talk."

"I already knew that." Bucky said, shooting Steve a sharp look. To his credit, Steve didn't try to deny the allegation, taking a step back. "And I think he does too."

"Well, that's a comfort." Tony snorted and set the pan down on the marble counter with a clatter.  

Steve huffed out a tight breath. "When this comes back to bite you in the ass-- because it will, it always does with Loki-- don't come back here asking for help."

Bucky's grip loosened on Steve's wrist, and his attention fell on Tony. "What about Loki?"

"He healed me. That's  _ literally _ it." Tony's eyes narrowed on Steve.  "Because  _ right now _ he knows that we're his best option at surviving what's coming our way.  If he wants to make sure one of his top hitters isn't at risk of bleeding out the second he  _ breathes _ wrong, I'm not gonna fucking argue." 

"You let the god of chaos heal you?" Bucky asked, raising a brow at him. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"Oh, for fuck's--" Tony braced his hands against the counter, jaw flexing as he took one long, slow breath. "He just  _ did it _ , okay? Stop fucking making it out to be more than it is."

"It seems like a pretty big deal to me." Steve said, wrist moving a little, like he was trying to break Bucky's grip. 

Bucky let his wrist go, only to nudge none too gently at Steve's side, half pushing him towards the door. "Go. Go on. We're gonna talk about this more later, okay. Go cool off before you do something stupid."

"He's already  _ started _ something stupid--" Tony cut himself off at Bucky's look, holding his hands up in a mockery of surrender, laugh tight as he shook his head and turned away. "God. Whatever."

"Not whatever. What happened?" Bucky asked, once he was sure Steve was well and truly out of earshot. 

"I already told you what happened."

"With Rogers, I mean." Bucky clarified. 

Tony barked out another laugh. "Depends on what you're talking about. The first time or the most recent?"

"Both. Seeing as it's happened more than once." Bucky said. 

"It's not important. We don't-- Rogers and I just don't click-- didn't click-- and then we did." Tony shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair until it stood on end. "Or I thought we did and then, well, he lied and you happened and even before that I run at the mouth on the best of days and Mr. Sweet Apple Pie isn't the well-tempered All American everyone thinks he is--and I'm not  _ shot _ anymore so I just wanted to make  _ dinner _ , Barnes, not have an impromptu kitchen therapy session."

"You can't blame him for not being what everyone thinks he's going to be. I'll admit he isn't the easiest to get along with sometimes, and I hate that he did that to you on my account. But you can't say you'd do differently in his place. He was alone, and I was in a whole lot of trouble." Bucky said. "And it's not that we aren't glad you aren't hurting anymore. It's just-- Look, you've gotta admit Loki's a wild card, and I don't like that he's so interested in you."

The laugh that left Tony was a brittle, jagged thing. "I  _ never _ expected Steve to be everything my father touted him to be. The second he put his hands on me in that Helicarrier, I  _ knew _ he wasn't the corn fed American boy from the comics or the stories or--"

Tony's lips pursed. He looked like he swallowed something sour.

"But you're right. I get it; I do. I  _ understand _ why he reacts to me the way he does-- why he's consistently  _ disappointed _ \--but you're wrong." Tony's voice wavered. "I would've never lied. Not about that."

A weight settled between them. Tony’s hands flexed at his sides. He breathed deep.

"And I can handle Loki. I don't need you or anyone else to look after me. I'm a big boy."

"He laid a hand on you?" Bucky asked, raising a curious brow. "He's never talked much about what went down with the whole New York incident."

"I pushed him into it."

"Now, I don't doubt that. But what actually happened?" Bucky asked. 

"Like I said, I pushed. He pushed back." Tony shrugged, moving to plate the filets as he spoke. "Grabbed me. Kinda has boundary issues too, now that I'm thinking about it. Left a couple of bruises, that's all. Guy still doesn't know his own strength."

"He still doesn't sometimes." Bucky said evenly. "But that doesn't count for much. I'll talk to him about it. And listen, I know you think he's disappointed in you. But that's not it."

Tony's expression twisted, and he opened his mouth in a way that Bucky knew he wouldn't like what was about to come out, when the door opened.  Vision stepped in, and Tony's teeth clicked. 

"Viz," he greeted, plastering on a smile.  "Just the robot I wanted to see.  Help me cart the cow out?" 

Bucky huffed out a quiet grunt, but dropped the subject. "About time for dinner. I'm starving."

"Get out of my kitchen, then." Tony replied, tone a bit lighter, grin a bit tentative.

Vision padded over, taking the platter with ease. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way, Robocop."

Bucky returned Tony's smile easily, something soft around his eyes as he lead them out, as if nothing had ever happened. 

* * *

Dinner passed without further incident, if only because Bucky kept Steve talking when they weren't too busy demolishing half the food Tony had made. Jane had eyed them both with some amusement when they went back for thirds. 

Bucky was midway through clearing the dishes when he noticed Tony rising from the table and quietly taking his leave. The curious look Bucky shot him went unnoticed, and before he could say anything, Tony had vanished from sight. 

Bucky's expression furrowed in as he returned to the table, but before he could say anything Natasha had already spoken. 

"Alright. What happened in there?"

Steve cringed a little, but largely was able to keep the expression to himself. "Disagreement, you could say."

Natasha's brow drew higher, and she nodded as Clint raised a half empty bottle of merlot. "The kind that won't matter in the morning or the kind that left bruises?" she asked as Clint poured her a new glass.

"I didn't hurt him." Steve grunted, halfhearted at best. 

"But it's gonna make a difference in the morning." Bucky added.

Natasha grunted and it was echoed by Clint. Scott excused himself, carting off one of the half empty platters, clearing his throat along the way and gesturing with his head.

"I'm just-- If anyone wants to not feel like they're eavesdropping, feel free to help me with clean up." Scott said and Jane seemed to perk.

"I'll help."

When they'd left, Steve and Bucky at the table with Clint and Natasha, Thor leaning forward, Wanda and Vision sharing a quiet look, and Sam knocking back the last of his wine and waggling it toward Clint expectantly, a weight seemed to settle in the cracks between them all.  Natasha leaned back in her seat, arms crossed lazily over her chest. Anyone who knew her knew that casualty of it was dangerous all on its own.

"What  _ happened _ , Steve?"

The weight of the conversation seemed to settle over Steve's shoulders. Bucky settled next to him again, eyes drawn to Natasha for a moment before he glanced away. 

"Look it wasn't-- It wasn't that bad or anything. We just argued. Again. Like we always do." Steve told them. "I shouldn't take the bait like I do, but I couldn't help it."

"The both of you have some serious communication problems." Clint grunted, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up at the edge.

Sam grimaced. "You gotta stop letting your temper get the best of you, Steve. We've talked about this. Did you even try using any of the techniques?"

"I mean, I--" Steve cut himself off before he could stutter through a poorly constructed lie. "No."

"You're never gonna work past it if you don't try, Steve." Sam gave him a sympathetic look. "Your reactions are a symptom of a bigger thing. And that bigger thing is gonna keep biting you in the ass if you don't try and address it."

"He's right," Natasha said. "You're leaps and bounds better than when you first came off the ice, Rogers, but it's a process. One that most, if not all, of the people at this table are familiar with in one form or another."

"Didn't think I signed up for a group therapy session." Steve grunted, expression turning sour around the edges. 

"Yeah, well, you need one, so get used to it." Bucky shot back, in a tone that boded no argument. 

Steve glanced over at him, almost dejected but finally heaved out a sigh. "Alright. Alright, fine. I'll try harder. But you can't tell me he doesn't know what buttons to press."

"I'm positive Tony is getting his own talk right now." Natasha shared a significant look with Bucky. "We aren't blaming you for fighting with Tony."

"Again." Clint chirped, grin broad and stupid, and Natasha knocked his feet so that he nearly toppled over.

"You and him... you  _ lead _ this team before everything fell apart. We're heading into a fight, one that we might not make it out of, and we need to be united." Natasha continued, lips pressing thin.  "It's the only way we'll have a chance."

"If I may," Vision shifted in his seat as all eyes fell on him. "While I do not necessarily enjoy discussing him while he is not present, Tony is... attempting to make best of the situation we all forced ourselves into. He is not, however, infallible."

Vision paused. It was only when Wanda reached over the table to take his hand that he continued.

"Words are something he possesses a great deal of skill in. He uses them like a suit of armor when he cannot wear one." Vision's gaze drifted over them before landing on Steve. "If he is pushing, it means he is hurt.  Or worse, afraid of being so."

Thor hummed, nodding his head slow. "The Vision is right. I have seen my brother do the same thing, again and again. It does not mean he means them."

Steve heaved out a sigh, heavy in a way that implied that it somehow bore the weight of it all. "I get it. I do. He doesn't trust me. I guess, I just-- Look, I don't see how we're ever gonna get along. We just don't work like that, and maybe that's fine too."

Natasha raised a brow at him, disbelief written all over her face. "Do you actually think that?"

Steve seemed to waver. "I-- I don't know. It's not like he ever let me get close or anything."

"He thought you were friends." Wanda said. 

"Tony doesn't let  _ people  _ close, Cap." Clint finally leaned in, his brows drawn together.  "He let us close. He let  _ you _ close."

Steve's expression crumbled, and he seemed to somehow sink further into his chair. He didn't meet anyone's eyes, and let a hand come up to push through his hair, probably harsher than necessary. "I guess I just never noticed."

"No. And that's not necessarily your fault." Sam's voice was low; soft.

Natasha nudged at Steve's foot under the table. "You didn't before, but what about now? Knowing what you do, in this moment, why do you think Tony would rebuff your concern the way he does? After everything that's happened between you?

"I don't-- He wouldn't care--"

"Sure, he would." Bucky interrupted, knowing exactly where Steve's mind was taking him. "And I think you know it."

Steve resisted for only a moment longer before he inclined his head just slightly. "I guess it's the only explanation for all this."

Natasha sighed, leaning her elbows in the table, fingers laced. "That's half your answer. Now why do you think he gets defensive when you act concerned?"

"Because I frighten him. He can't trust me." Steve told her, expression pinched. 

"Why do you think that is?"

"You know why. You all know why." Steve said, an edge returning to his voice. 

"Steve," Natasha took a breath, letting it out slow. "It isn't that he doesn't trust you. It's that he has before, he's thought you were friends because of the way you acted, and he ended up on the wrong end of your shield. It's that, right now, you're acting the same way--concerned, protective, overbearing. And if you weren't friends, if you didn't care, you wouldn't act that way."

"You're giving him mixed signals," Clint clarified.

"And the last time he thought you were his friend, you lied to him, by omission or otherwise." Natasha nodded.

Sam cleared his throat. "That's not us telling you you're at fault."

Clint raised a hand. "That's me saying it. You're both idiots."

Natasha kicked his foot under the table. "What we're trying to get at is an understanding. We need you two, leading us,  _ together _ . Which means you need to understand each other and communicate."

"Tony will close you out every time if he thinks you'll hurt him again." Vision said, tone low and solemn. "He will never let you in unless he's sure you are not being false. He has had too much of falseness in his life."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" Steve asked. "I can't force him to trust me, and I can't change his mind if he's already made it up. Everytime I try to get close to him, we argue."

Vision gave him a look that left room for no argument. "You keep trying. If you want to be his friend, you try and try and, eventually, he stops pretending he does not care about you. Because he does. The fact that he becomes so retaliatory is proof of that enough."

For a short moment, it looked like Steve wanted to protest but something in his expression faltered, and he nodded in assent. "Alright. Alright, fine. I'll keep at it, see if he comes around."

"Good," Clint grunted. "Because I'll be dammed if your bickering keeps Tony from cooking shit like this. That steak was like fucking butter, oh my god."

Thor leaned back, patting his stomach. "He does make a mighty feast."

Steve huffed out a short sound, vaguely amused as he ducked his head.

"I mean. We could always just not invite him next time Tony's feeling domestic." Bucky said, something cheeky in his smile, eyes drifting to Steve for a moment as he nudged at his side. 

"Quality plan. Consider yourself warned." Clint grinned.

Steve's lips twitched up in amusement, and with the expression, some of the tension in the room lifted. "Maybe steal me some left overs?"

Bucky shrugged a little, but his grin didn't fade. "If I feel like it."

"Or you and Stark could just make up and get back to being that old married couple everyone hates." Sam replied, typing his wine glass back.

"You two got to old married couple status?" Bucky asked. 

"I mean. I guess." Steve shrugged.

Bucky snorted out a quiet laugh. "That's cute."

"Annoying. You mean annoying." Clint supplied.

"Annoyingly cute?" Bucky offered.

"Just annoying."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, birdbrain."

* * *

The elevator doors slid shut not three feet from Bucky's nose, and a tautness rippled up his back and along the lines of his shoulders. To his left, Steve stood in silence, gaze focused directly ahead of him in an absent kind of way that was familiar to Bucky, recognizing it immediately as the look Steve got when he was too far into his own thoughts.

Bucky let him sit for a moment longer before he cleared his throat. "I always wondered why you never told me much about when you first woke up. I figured it would have been rough, but I didn't think it was like that."

"It wasn't--" Steve sighed, head hanging. "I was... angry. And probably a bit scared. Didn't have a single familiar thing to hold onto."

"So, you took it out on Stark." 

"I wanted-- He looks  _ so much _ like Howard." Steve tried to explain. "And then he was  _ nothing _ like him."

"I know. I get it." Bucky said, tone softening as he moved a little closer. "Would have been jarring. But you can't, okay? I know how he is, but you can't get like that."

"I know that. I know that  _ now _ , but after just waking up-- didn't really have a chance." Steve's nose wrinkled. "And you know how he can get. He just keeps pushing and then I got mad and... I said a lot of things I believed at the time but I regret more and more every time he carries a goddamn nuke through a wormhole. But that doesn't change how angry he can get me, Buck. And he can get me  _ so _ angry."

Bucky blew out a breath, exasperated. "I don't know why I put up with either of you, honestly. I guess this means I'm gonna have to play diplomat until he figures out how to stop poking and you stop being such an angry bear of a thing."

Steve's jaw flexed. "Sam's right. We did talk about my temper. It gets me into trouble and it's not...well, it's not healthy. I should get a better hold of it. Tony's barbs shouldn't get to me the way they do. Most of the time he doesn't even mean them; I know that."

"Yeah, well, in your defense, Tony is really,  _ really _ good at getting under your skin." Bucky said, jerking his head a little when the elevator door opened, stepping out into their apartment.

Following after him, Steve huffed out a little laugh. "Talking from experience, buddy?"

Bucky shot him a flat look. "What do you think?"

"He's got a knack for it," Steve said.

"Practice." Bucky replied. "But. Don't worry. I'll teach you how he works."

Steve's brows flew up as they stepped into their suite. "Oh, you will? You do know I've known him longer, right?"

"Yeah, and in all that time have you learned how to handle him?" Bucky asked.

Steve's mouth worked. "Not exactly."

Bucky smiled at him, almost arrogant. "Just accept the fact that I'm better at Stark wrangling than you are. At least, with this generation."

"Now if only you could teach me your ways, Yoda." Steve rolled his eyes.

"That's the plan." Bucky said. "Though you'd make a terrible Jedi."

Steve stopped somewhere between his room and Bucky's. "You serious?"

"Give up worldly attachments?" Bucky replied. "Not exactly your style."

"No, I mean--" Steve laughed and shuffled forward. "You're gonna teach me how to handle Tony?"

"Oh." Bucky said. "Well, yeah, sure."

"Oh." Steve nodded. "Good."

"He's not so bad, once you get past the prickles." Bucky shrugged. "But, uh…  There's a lot of prickles."

"Prickles," Steve nodded. "That's one way to put it."

"Don't worry about it, though." Bucky said, offering him a smile. "We'll sort it out."

Steve nodded again, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. "How? I mean, how did you do it?"

"Stubborn determination." Bucky shrugged. "Which, you have in spades, so."

"Thanks." Steve grunted.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Bucky replied, offering him a smile, teasing around the edges.

Steve's expression untwisted a bit. "I really do wanna be his friend, I think. At least, I want things back the way they were.  Before everything."

"And it'll get there." Bucky insisted. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Sure. Yeah, you're right."

"And stop overthinking it, I can hear you overthinking it from here." Bucky added, tone lighter as he pulled away, making his way across their apartment.

"I'm not overthinking anything," Steve protested.

Bucky gave him a look, brows ticking up. "Uh-huh. And I'm from outer space."

"Well, I just-- you kinda have to overthink with Tony. He's always, I dunno...  _ on _ . He's not one step ahead, he's fifty, and always in the worst possible direction."

Bucky's expression crinkled up. "Nah, it's not that complicated. You just go with it. You just have to listen when he starts on his weird science shit, might not make sense, but you gotta listen."

"So that I can what? Pass a test later?"

Bucky cast him a flat look. "He just likes the company. Pretty sure he knows I don't get it half the time, but he likes having someone there to listen to him."

Steve's mouth pressed thin. "He's got plenty of company. All the time."

"You're kidding me, right?"

Steve looked uncertain. "No?"

Bucky whistled out a sound. "Wow, you really don't know him, do you? He's alone, pretty well all the time."

"He's not," Steve insisted. "He's got those robots and FRIDAY. And he's had Rhodey and Pepper longer than I've known him.  I'm sure there are others I don't know about or haven't met--it's not like we tell each other everything; the whole team, not just him."

"Okay, so he's got three bots who can't talk, FRIDAY who only counts _technically_ as another person to talk to-- all of them he made himself, by the way," Bucky started. "I haven't seen Pepper around since he got shot, and Rhodey's got his own things to deal with. No one's ever there."

"That doesn't mean he's  _ alone _ ."

"Doesn't mean he's got company either." Bucky said. "He's a pretty lonesome guy when you really get to know him. I don't think he particularly likes it that way either."

Steve sighed, hand on his hip, hand scrubbing over his face. "I--yeah, okay, fine. He's...he's lonely."

His jaw flexed. His gaze strayed down.

"Fuck," he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Ain't your fault, but maybe spare a little sympathy." Bucky said, moving back in closer again. "And sure, he kind of makes himself that way. But he needs people. He's like you, does dumb shit and needs someone to keep an eye on things."

Steve nodded. "He does really dumb shit."

"Between the two of you, I'm going to go grey early." Bucky grumbled.

"You sure you aren't already?"

"Maybe a little." Bucky shrugged. "But I am pushing a hundred."

"Yeah, you're kinda old."

"Like you can talk." Bucky retorted.

"You know, for a couple of World War II vets, we're pretty spry." Steve added. 

Bucky's lips twitched up. "Yeah. Yeah, we do alright."

"We should get some rest though. Old guys like us staying up past nine?"

"Unheard of." Bucky said. "But you need a shower first."

"Are you telling me I smell?"

"Yes. You're disgusting. Go wash."

"You do remember that I'm your senior officer, right?" Steve's shoulder clipped Bucky's on his way by. 

Bucky scoffed out a sound, brash and amused, as he turned with the slight momentum of Steve passing, watching him go with unbridled mirth. "Yeah, under a fucking technicality."

"Whatever you say, Buck. Whatever you say."


	19. Chapter 18: The Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final countdown!

_ Listen to the wind blow; watch the sun rise. _

_ Run in the shadows; damn your love, damn your lies. _

Bobbing his head, he drummed his fingers against the control console, a plastic dinosaur figurine three inches to the left of his pinky.  His eyes were for the stars and nothing else.  

_ And if you don’t love me now, _

_ You will never love me again. _

_ I can still hear you saying _

_ You would never break the--  _

There was a  _ crack _ and then a  _ crash _ somewhere behind him.  Biting back a curse, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the resulting  _ thump _ , and a spew of filthy words that ranged from English to some outrageous otherworldly languages that reached the far distant planets even Peter had never touched. 

He took one deep breath, then another, and then unclipped from the driver’s seat.  He rounded the pilot’s chair and stalled, lips pressing up and thin comically on his face at the sight of Rocket banging something against the metal grate of the floor. 

“Would you  _ stop _ ?” he spat and Rocket didn’t even look up.  “ _ Dude _ !” 

“What?” Rocket grumbled, though he did stop his racket, only to rip a number of colorful wires out from whatever gadget he’d gotten his paws on this time.  “I’m workin’ here, Quill.” 

Stalking forward, Peter crouched and jerked the small metal rectangle away from him, even as Rocket made grabby-hands upwards toward it.  “For the last fucking time, stop tearing apart my ship!  You’re always doing this.” 

“What else do you expect me to do?” Rocket sprung up, tail twitching back and forth.  “Stuck on this hunk of junk, no stops, no break-- I’m  _ bored _ !” 

“That doesn’t give you an excuse to--” he jerked back a step as Rocket lunged for him and the half-baked contraption in his hand.  “Hey.  Hey!” 

“Give it back, Quill.  You don’t even know what it does!” 

“Lemme take  _ one _ guess,” Peter drolled, voice rising.  “It blows something up!” 

“Well,  _ yeah _ , but you don’t know  _ what _ yet!” 

There were footsteps, pointedly heavy, on the stairs that lead up to the helm.  Gamora stepped in, brow up, lips pursed.  Her hair was tied back neatly; her clothes disheveled.  She’d obviously just woken up.  Peter’s teeth clicked when he shut his mouth around a retort. 

“ _ Children _ ,” it was something between a sigh and a sneer, and she paced the last few stairs up to glance between them.  

“He started it!” Rocket pointed a clawed finger. 

“Oh, I did  _ not _ \--” 

Gamora lifted a brow.  “Should I repeat myself?” 

Peter’s jaw twitched and he shuffled a bit.

At his knees, Rocket lowered his ears.  

“Good,” she hummed.  “How far out are we, Peter?” 

“Stone’s throw away from a hail,” he tossed the device up in the air, careless as Gamora walked by and he turned to follow, and Rocket scrambled to catch it.  “If they even have a hailing system set up for us.” 

Our the vast windows of the helm, Gamora ducked down to see a large expanse of stars and a planet-- round and blue and big-- in the middle distance.  She hummed again and took the co-pilot chair. 

"Somehow I don't think they're advanced enough." Gamora said bluntly, regarding the planet with an even composure. "But they will know when we come, whatever that will mean for us."

"I almost feel insulted," Peter grunted. 

"Are you still attached?" Gamora asked. 

Peter choked out a sound. "You kidding? There's no better planet in the 'verse for music or food. Of course I'm attached."

"When were you last there?" Gamora asked pointedly. 

"I was abducted," Peter cast her a dry look. "Didn't exactly have a chance to come visit while I was growing up."

"So. You do not know what to expect now." Gamora concluded. 

"Not--" a stilted laugh escaped him. "I mean, not necessarily."

Behind them, Rocket snorted. 

"Oh, shut up." Peter cast over his shoulder. 

"What? She's right." Rocket shot back. 

"You don't know that," Peter said, focus falling back to the slow rotation of the earth in front of them. "I mean, how much could change in twenty years?"

* * *

"Don't touch those." 

Loki pulled his hand back, brows up, the other held neatly at his lower back.  "Why not?" 

"If you do, you'll activate the heavy gauge heat shield." Tony muttered, elbow deep in a mess of wires and what appeared to be titanium chest plates.  "It's one of the additions I kept from the Mark XXXIX, along with the concussive canon.  I'd really prefer not having either of those go off while I'm not  _ in _ the suit.  Viz?" 

Without a word, Vision hefted a large armored piece up, sliding it into place over the shoulder of the deconstructed suit.  Inside, Tony reached for the connective wires, stripping one end and twining them together.  

"Not even as a test?" Loki asked, lips curling wickedly, fingers twitching curiously, although he refrained from meddling for the moment. 

"Not even as a test," Tony glanced up at him, brief enough to accidentally shock himself and jerk back with a hiss, shaking out his hand. 

Vision frowned.  "Is there a short?" 

"Might be," Tony mumbled.  "FRIDAY, analyze." 

"Working on it, boss." 

Tony pulled back from the broken down parts, wiping his hands off on the rag hanging out of his jean pocket.  "I didn't invite you down here to play with my suit, Loki." 

"Who said anything about playing?" Loki asked, feline in the way he inspected the parts in front of him. "Now. How is it that you plan to house the Stone?"

"Viz?" Tony gestured over to the vault.

He dipped his head and stepped away, moving toward it as Tony wheeled around to face Loki.  The lab was an organized mess of parts and schematics.  Tony had been on lockdown with Vision since about eight the night previous, though Tony seemed to be humming with energy as he hand-welded pieces together and began soldering the connectors of Orion's innards together bit by bit. That might have had something to do with the coffee machine puttering in the corner, Dumm-E hovering by it, just waiting for the right word or more generally an absent gesture.  

Usually, Tony would've trusted his machines to do the work for him, but this suit was more delicate and he had no room for mistakes.  The main body of work would have to be done by hand.  The rest, he would let FRIDAY finish for him. 

Vision returned with a core of metal cradled in his hands.  He stepped up to Tony's side and offered it with a tight smile, and Tony took it as he stood, gesturing Loki nearer toward a clear spot on a workbench.  

"Vibranium core."  Tony pointed to the intricate layering of metal, the engraving curve of where the core would lock into the suit, and the bright center where an arc reactor hummed.  "Usually, I'd make them to house a singular power source.  In this one, there's a secondary slot, where the Stone will sit inside.  I've calibrated the reactor for excess energy surges, in case the Stone decides to act up, and it'll funnel the excess energy out through the suit." 

"I trust you've calibrated it to take the sheer amount of energy that the Stone might throw out." Loki said, inspecting the housing with a keen eye. "I know you've analysed the Tesseract."

"It'll hold."

"For your sake, I hope so." Loki replied, raising a brow at him. 

"No need for the doubtful tone, McCoy. I know what I'm--"

"Boss," FRIDAY's chimed overhead. "We have company."

"Let 'em in, FRI." Tony glanced over to the sliding doors that lead to his labs, spotting Bucky and Steve hovering. 

The doors slid open with a hiss.

Their eyes fell on Loki with matching distaste, and didn't leave him for a long moment. Bucky finally broke away to level a look at Tony, brow quirking just so in greeting. Steve settled just behind Bucky's left side, expression softening considerably as he regarded Tony. 

Bucky whistled out a low sound, looking over the beginnings of the Orion.  "Looks like you've been busy." 

"Well, when you have a deadline the size of a planet heading your way, you tend to get your shit in gear." Tony smiled. "How can I help you two today?"

"Just checking up on things." Steve said amicably. "Seeing how everything's tracking."

"Right on schedule." Tony clapped his hands together, rubbing them as he glanced over at Vision. "Suit's almost ready, shiny new gear is prepped and ready for you all downstairs, just putting the final touches on everything."

"No hiccups?" Bucky asked, casting a glance at Loki.  

The God raised a brow, scathing, but said nothing in retort.

"None so far."

Vision hummed his agreement. "The suit is far superior to most of Mr. Stark's work. Likely do to the care with which it has been constructed as well as the materials."

Steve hummed out a sound, contemplative and Bucky couldn't help but notice that his eyes lingered on the suit for a moment too long and then abruptly looked away. 

"At least it's all coming together in time," Steve said.

"That was the idea," Tony's smile curled into a sharp grin.  

"I see you've gotten someone else to do the heavy lifting." Bucky said, no trace of bite in his tone, gesturing to Vision.

"He's good at taking orders with no lip service." Tony pat Vision on the back. 

"What, you don't like my commentary?" Bucky shot back. 

"I make enough of it on my own," Tony replied. 

"Don't I know it." Bucky replied.

"Tony," Vision cut in with a polite smile, gesturing to the core cylinder.  "If I may?"

"Yeah, buddy, let's get that put away," Tony nodded. "Was there something you boys needed?"

"Can't we just want to bother you?" Bucky asked, a grin on his face.

"You know, we do actually have something important to prepare for." Loki cut in, expression curt.

"Then you'd better start working." Steve retorted, casting Loki a brief glance before his attention fell back on Tony.

"If you're gonna brawl, take it elsewhere." Tony said. "I don't have time to repair whatever you might break."

"I'm not brawling if he isn't." Steve shrugged. "But if you'd rather we leave you to it, we can."

"Nonsense," Tony waved a hand over his shoulder. "I can always use extra hands. Keeps me from having to rely on Butterfingers."

At Bucky's raised brow, Tony gestured the robot forward, and it came whirring with a fire extinguisher clutched in its metal hand. It's construction was similar to that of Dumm-E's, though perhaps a bit more refined. 

"Metal arm, meet metal arm." Tony said, almost offhand. "I had Fingers and U imported in from Malibu when I decided to construct by hand. U is downstairs giving my intern grey hairs."

Bucky peered at the bot, amused as it whirred around, a smile lighting up his expression when it butted into him. "Okay- Hey, pal. You wanna try going around?"

The bots arm shifted with the tell tale hiss of hydraulics, shaking just slightly before it wheeled back, and abruptly turned to avoid the blockade that was Bucky Barnes. 

"Don't seem so bad, for a bot." Bucky said fondly, glancing at Tony for a moment. "S'kinda cute." 

"You said the same thing about Dumm-E when he spilled my coffee in my lap," Tony grunted. "Forgive me if I think your opinion is a little off kilter."

"Doesn't make them less cute." Bucky shrugged. "They're robots, not waiters."

"Dumm-E's original directive was to bring me coffee while I crammed at MIT, I'll have you know." 

Vision's lips thinned.  "That's not necessarily true, Mr. Stark." 

Tony blinked up at him and then pointed a finger.  "Don't go digging in any archives, Viz.  J's programming is off-limits.  Mostly." 

"Forgive me," Vision replied with a small smile.

Tony waved him off and then wheeled over on a stool, moving to bury his hand back in the guts of his suit.  "It's cheating, is what that is--" 

"Boss," FRIDAY's voice chimed overhead.  "We've got incoming." 

Steve was immediately bought to attention from where he had been idly watching Bucky and the robot. By his side, Bucky rose from where he'd been letting Butterfingers inspect his arm, a tension bringing his shoulders tight and his back stiff.  

"Friendlies?" Steve asked. 

"I'm not sure," FRIDAY replied.  "Shall I patch Colonel Danvers through?" 

"Probably wise, FRI." Tony sighed, pushing to his feet. 

He flicked his wrists in an inverted twist and what composed the Orion suit so far began to collapse neatly.  Loki was not the only one who raised a brow at the move.  

"Neat." Bucky murmured, eyes flickering over the collapsed suit before he was following Steve towards the door. 

"I'll meet you upstairs." Steve told them. "I'll tell the others."

"Good plan," Tony said as he pat his shoulder and brushed by, deftly securing an earbud with his other hand.  "Carol, light of my life, talk to me." 

" _ It's the convoy.  The first of the ships has arrived with The Guardians at the helm. _ " 

"You know the coordinates to direct them to?" 

" _ Already done _ ." 

Tony glanced over at Loki, a bit wry and a bit demanding.  "Wanna take your big brother up there to meet them?" 

With a great sigh, Loki's more casual drab shimmered into something far more ostentatious.  "Must I?" 

"You can leave Thor with the Nova Corps so he can touch them down in the marshes." Tony told him as they all filed into the elevator.  "I want you to ensure the Guardians get to the Compound." 

"And for your third wish?" Loki sneered, but there was already a staff forming from his palm to the floor.  

"Do it now, not later." 

Without another word, he dissipated and the elevator doors slid shut.  

* * *

Space was never something Bucky had considered to be more than a great far off thing to be admired. But now apparently it was dropping its best and brightest to them, a fact that Bucky was still trying to wrap his head around. As the rest of the team gathered, unrest settled on Bucky's shoulders, marring his expression with worry as he made to follow Steve, only half listening to the very intense conversation he was having with Natasha. As they pulled to the left, he stopped, head cocking just slightly to one side. 

"Where are you going? Garage is the other way."

"Armory." Natasha replied, tone clipped as she pushed on. 

"You coming with us?" Steve asked, expectant for a second before the discomfort on Bucky's face made him pause. "We'll meet you down in the garage then, don't wait up."

Bucky looked them over for a moment before he gave a jerky nod and turned to leave. 

When he joined Tony, Vision, and Wanda down in the garage, Tony was directing the both of them to take one of the private jets down at the airfield to Florida.  Happy was standing by the open car door, looking expectant and resigned.

"Buckaroo, nice of you to join us." Tony called over, coaxing him close with the wave of a hand.  "I'm leaving Lang here with his crazy tech trio to hold down the fort.   _ You _ have options." 

"What kinda options?" Bucky asked, eyeing the array of vehicles Stark had lined up with some caution. "I'm not staying here."

"Strike option one," Tony muttered and gestured toward Happy. 

He grunted and climbed into the driver's seat as Vision opened a door for Wanda. 

Turning to him, Tony grinned.  "The other is play tag along with these two and help welcome the Nova Corps down in the boggy bayou." 

"I just wanna see the aliens. Even if they aren't coming with the best news." Bucky told him, almost conspiratorially. "So I guess I can play welcome wagon, for a while."

"There's another option," Tony grinned.  "Either way, there's aliens involved." 

"Alright, keep talking." Bucky said, shoulders easing. 

"And he picks door number three," Tony reached for him, taking Bucky by the arm he'd built so carefully for him all those months ago, and pulled him away from the car Happy was already driving out of the garage and over toward where Tony tended to keep his personal rides.  

There was a line of foreign cars that look more expensive than everything Bucky owned.  Interspersed within them were a few muscle cars-- older models that had been rebuilt, likely from the ground up-- and then toward the end was a handful of motorcycles. 

Bucky could recognize one as the bike Steve had been spotted on a number of times before the Accords.

Tony stopped them right in front of something sleek and black and dangerous looking.  It was a low rider, classic cut, and it was all chrome and pitch.  Tony beamed as he maneuvered Bucky right in front of it. 

Bucky hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking from the bike, to Tony, and back before he caught on. A grin lit up his face, roguish as he took a step towards the bike. 

"You really know how to impress a guy."

"Consider it thanks," Tony shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  "For all the heavy lifting." 

Bucky looked him over, smile dimming to something fond, and he nudged at Tony's shoulder as he passed. "Don't get sappy on me now, Tinman. We got aliens to see."

"You're way too excited about the aliens," Tony replied, already backing toward one of the sleeker looking cars in a blinding orange.

"Aliens, Tony. Actual live aliens." Bucky called to him. "That's fucking exciting."

"Technically, you've been living with two aliens for a few weeks now." Tony shook his head, dangling a pair of keys from his fingers like temptation itself.  "And you weren't around for the last batch of aliens.  They were ugly.  And I killed a lot of them." 

"I know. I read the files." Bucky said, taking the keys with a smug little grin when Tony tossed them, moving to settle astride the bike. "I'll see you there?"

"Obey the speed laws.  Be home before ten.  Make good choices." 

"So, I'll race you there?"

Tony placed a hand over his chest. "My head says no, but my heart tells me you're gonna be choking on the smell of burnt rubber when I pass your ass."

"Yeah, we'll see about that." Bucky retorted, turning the key in the bike's ignition until it purred to life between his thighs. "I'll see you on the other side."

"You even know where you're going, Clark?"

"Better than you do, Lewis." Bucky shot back, twisting his wrist to let the engine rumble beneath him.

Over the low growl of the bike, Natasha's boots clipped against the pavement. "Somehow I doubt that, Yasha."

At her flank, Steve and Sam wore matching expression of impress. Clint even whistled. 

"Nice ride, man."

"Good thing I'm good at improvising." Bucky replied, shooting Natasha a dry look. "Can't be that hard to find."

"It's a secret compound." Sam deadpanned, giving him that look that Bucky only let Sam give him. 

"I'm great a secrets." Bucky shrugged. "Can tell me anything you want and a little while later I won't remember shit all. Now are we gonna go or what?"

"Shotgun!" Clint called, already sliding over the hood of Tony's car.

"Don't fucking touch the radio, Barton." Tony snapped, but he was moving to the driver's side. "Nat, hitch on the back with Barnes and keep him from running too many lights."

She sidled up to Bucky, swinging her leg over the back without preamble. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she sent a sly look Steve's way as she pressed flush to his back. 

"I'm starting to see what all the fuss is about, Rogers." Natasha practically purred. 

Sam groaned. "Stark, tell me there's enough room in that slick piece of yours or I might off myself from the next tall building we see."

"Dangerous game. New York is full of them." Tony pulled the seat forward for him anyway, pausing to share a look with Steve before glancing at where his old bike was resting next to Bucky's. "She still runs just fine, if you want her."

Steve hesitated for a short moment before he nodded, offering Tony a small smile as he moved towards the other bike. "Either this, or I some how figure out how to make three work with Buck."

"Don't get too creative now, Rogers." Bucky said, grinning at him, shifted a little to between accommodate the extra weight Natasha set over the bikes frame. He glanced back a little to look at her, brow raised just so. "You holding on,  _ маленький паук?" _

"I swear to God, if you don't get moving _I'll_  drive this thing from behind you," Natasha grunted. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, and moved away from the parking space the bike previously occupied, idling past Tony's car, almost in challenge. 

In response, Tony slid into the driver's seat, turning the engine over and letting the car roar. 

The game was on.

* * *

Much to the disappointment of his companions, Steve arrived first, with enough time to spare to already have settled to watch the sky for the arrival of their intergalactic aid. He shot Bucky a smug little grin, just enough to curl the edges of his lips, but said nothing as Tony pulled up behind them. 

"So E.T's phoned home." Natasha said, a feline smile quirking her expression as she settled beside Steve. "They're due in approximately fifteen, according to Danvers."

 

"Good, that gives us time to settle in." Steve replied, moving from where he stood to turn to Tony, making his way over, jaw a little stiff and perhaps a bit tentative but unyielding. "Where are they due to land?"

"The landing pad on the west end," Tony replied as he shut the car door, pulling a slim holographic phone from his pocket and tapping out a few directives to FRIDAY.  

Steve nodded once, and then gestured for Tony to lead on, falling into step close beside him, well aware of the look Natasha was giving him. "Do you think the Nova Corps will be enough?"

"We can hope," Tony grimaced. "How are the troops shaping up?"

"Some better than others." Steve said, no bite to his tone, although his eyes slid Bucky's way briefly. "We'll have enough, when push comes to shove."

"You say that now," Tony replied; glib. "Let's see if it's the same when there's a giant mad man in your face trying to kill the world."

"We'll figure something out, like we always do." Steve said evenly. "Together."

Tony faltered, blinking up at him. "Yeah," he muttered. "Together. "

Overhead, there was a roar of noise. 

They all looked skyward. Tony wasn't sure what he'd expected from a group that called themselves the Guardians, but a massive ship painted the same garish orange and blue of the Denver Broncos somehow never made the imaginary list.

He tipped his head back, squinting, and the wind whipped around them in torrents as the spaceship geared for landing. Tony had to throw an arm in front of his face at the gust of dirt and dust as it touched down, even with his sunglasses on. If it had been any other time, not on the precipice of war, Tony would have been buzzing with delight at the sight of a ship that could jump through galaxies in the simple matter of months when it could take years to travel between planets with the current state of earth's science.

He decided that he should set aside a few billion to fund better programs.

"Quite the entrance," he muttered as the engines began to wind down, a low reverberating hum still filling the field. 

Bucky's expression had lit up from the moment he saw the ship approaching and he let an elbow nudge at Steve's side before he could stop himself. Steve glanced at him briefly, but his expression held none of the delight Bucky's did, too concerned with what the arrival of the Guardians heralded for them.

The underbelly of the ship opened with a hiss of hydraulics, and from within the gloom of the interior a man no taller than Steve stepped out, marked as different only by his clothing. 

"Greetings, earthlings." The man called, loud and long, hands spread in defense and surrender. "We come in peace!"

From behind him, Loki scoffed, boots clanking against the ramp. "Do shut up, Quill."

"Take me to your leader--!"

"Shut your gunny trap, Starpants." A small raccoon groused as he traipsed along after them. "You've been chattering nonstop this whole trip."

"Rocket," Quill faltered, speaking low out of the side of his mouth. "C'mon, man."

Tony stepped up as Loki brushed both of them by, rolling his eyes as he met Tony halfway. They reached out, clasping hands in greeting, as though they hadn't just seen each other a couple of hours previous.

"Swell job, Scrappy. Care to make some introductions?"

Loki grunted. "Hardly."

Steve's brows furrowed in, eyes drawn to the raccoon walking down the gangway on its hind legs.  He blinked, as if the image would clear, but found himself still staring at a talking animal. From behind them, a woman with curiously green skin emerged, expression set to narrow eyed watchfulness as she surveyed the gathered humans. Steve found himself pinned under her gaze for a moment, and he shifted on his feet, looking her over with equal curiosity.

"Well. I'm not sure what I expected, but this isn't it." Bucky murmured, although Steve could hear the excitement threaded into his tone.

"Cap!" Tony waved a hand.

Steve hesitated for a moment, eyes drawn to the ship before he moved toward Tony, eyeing what he assumed to be the ship's captain. "So. These are the Guardians?"

Loki let out a tight sigh and held out a hand, something genial and practiced about the movement, like he'd done something similar hundreds of times. "Captain, this is the leader of the Guardians. Peter Quill, this is Captain Steve Rogers."

"Good to have you on board." Steve said, offering a Quill a hand out of reflex. His eyes strayed to the green woman, and the raccoon on the gangway. "All of you."

"Whoa, wait, whoa." Peter took Steve's hand. "You're-- I mean, you're Captain America, right? Man, I used to read your comics when I was, like, eight."

"Oh," Tony's eyes grew wide, something like delight curling over his mouth. "My God."

Steve's expression fell flat, and he shot Bucky an unimpressed look when he barely stifled a laugh. "That'd be me, yeah. Apparently those comics even got out into space."

"No way, man." Peter grinned.  "I grew up on those." 

"Intergalactic hero." Bucky snickered.

"Can it, you." Steve retorted, jabbing at Bucky's ribs. "We've got a battle to plan."

"Man, this is so _cool_." Peter rocked back onto his heels.

"Yeah, yeah, big blonde guy is all shiny and famous, and you're the biggest idiot in the galaxy," the raccoon grumbled somewhere around Peter's knees.  "Can we get on with the intros, please, I'm hungry and want to blow something up."

Tony hummed. "I'm familiar with the sensation. Kinda a tingly feeling in the fingers, right?"

"Sumthin like that," the raccoon peered up at him, squinting. "Rocket."

"I have a few," Tony's brows drew together, and when the little guy cocked his head over he startled a bit.  "Oh, that's your name."

Loki looked as if he were biting his cheek. "Anthony Stark, Rocket and Gamora."

The woman, Gamora, tipped her chin up slightly.  She settled into place at Peter's right, arms crossing over her chest.

"I'm digging the threads," Tony gestured. "Very space pirate. Your ship isn't called Serenity, is it? You're not hiding a very small, very violent girl from the government?"

"We do not have time for small talk, Anthony Stark." Gamora interrupted, painfully blunt. "You will have no serenity here if you do not prepare for Thanos' arrival."

From behind Steve, Natasha's lips quirked into an impressed smile, and as Gamora made to move away from Quill's side, she gestured for her to follow. "Then what do we need to know about our pending guest?"

"Ah, see,  _ that _ is an inside conversation." Tony gestured back toward the Compound.  "Shall we?"

"Uh, yeah, totally." Peter bobbed his head, then looked down.  "Hey, Rocket, man.  Go get Groot and Drax, would you?"

Rocket waved a paw, rolling his eyes as he marched back up the ramp.  "Sure!  Happy to run your errands for you, Quill!  Just what I'm here to do, run errands at your beck and call."

Peter's jaw went tight.  " _ Rocket _ ."

"Choke on a hairball!"

"You're the only one that does that!" Peter snapped back.

Brows up, Tony leaned into Bucky, voice low.  "Crack team." 

"They get on about as well as we do." Bucky replied, eyeing the gangway as the raccoon vanished up it. 

He returned a moment later, a giant hulking figure in tow, blue skin mottled with red markings. Beside them, a smaller figure walked, a lunging gait unnatural to a human bringing it down the ramp.

Bucky blinked a few times. "That's a fucking tree."

"That's not a--" Tony blinked, squinted, then held up a hand to his eye-- fingers curled into a loose circle as he squeezed the other shut-- before dropping it and making a breathy little sound. "I stand corrected. You're assessment is right, that's a fucking tree."

"Groot," Peter provided.

"That's its name?"

"Along with one of the only the words in his vocabulary."

"And linguistics experts over the world began to salivate and sob." Tony shoved his hands back into the pockets of his pants, rocking up on his toes. "Some of them at the same time. Most of them, actually."

"You're just full of jokes, today." Natasha huffed.

"Well, part of me is elated by intergalactic travelers while the other, less popular, side of me is quietly screaming." He offered her one of those sharp, shark smiles, though there was a great deal of twinkle in his eyes. "Wanna know which one is winning?"

Natasha leveled him with a dry look at the same time Loki did.

"Your sense of comedic timing is astounding," Loki said. "Really."

"Think I should take it on tour?"

"Greetings, Terrans." A big voice boomed, and the blue man who must have been Drax beamed at them. "I have heard many great and pitiable tales of you from Quill. Is the man named Indiana among your people?"

For a moment, there was a lull. Then Tony, of course it was Tony, laughed. Hand on his belly, eyes bright and smile wide.

He didn't even stop when the others pinned him with a fair mixture of confused and irritated looks.

Natasha hid her smile well, though not before Tony could spot it as his laughter settled into an easy chuckle. They shared a look, but any other recognition was relegated to the gentle hand she placed at his back. To steady herself or him was unclear.

"Sorry, sorry," Tony waved a hand, eyes a little wet. "Here I thought I was the only comedian."

Drax's expression twisted up, head cocking. Before he could speak, Tony was already reaching for him, grasping his forearm rather than his hand, and it seemed the right move because Drax brightened again and accepted it with an eagerness.

"Drax, right? Anthony Stark; call me Tony, everybody does unless they're calling me something else." He had to stretch to wrap an arm over his shoulders, but he did, moving between the gathering to guide him away from the ramp and toward the building. "Walk with me, Bautista, I already know we're gonna get on great."

As they moved away, Peter leaned in a bit to Steve. "Should we be worried?"

Steve's lips quirked up, amused, although there was something cheeky in it.  "I think Tony should be just fine with his new friend."   



	20. Chapter 19: Drive It Like You Stole It

Nova Prime wasn't what Steve expected, remarkably human as she looked upon them from the screen Stark had set up, stately in her bearing. Second only to her in the room was Tony, who navigated the potentially tense situation with a care that Steve rarely saw.

"Our fleet is not what it was before Thanos' attack, but we still have the numbers to help handle the Chitauri." She told them, hands neatly folded in front of her. "I'm also under the understanding that one of you will join us in the campaign. I wasn't aware that humans had reached that level if space travel."

"We usually aren't." Steve said, casting a glance Tony's way. "But we have the exception."

"And I intend to take a more versatile role anyway," Tony chimed. "I'll be in the sky as long as you need, but if Thanos slips by, I won't be leaving my team in the lurch. Or the earth, for that matter."

Steve didn't miss the significant look Loki cast Tony's way, or the pointed way Tony ignored it. But there were other things at hand.

"We wouldn't expect you to." Nova Prime said evenly. "But let's hope it does not come to that."

"The option's there all the same." Steve said, eyes drawn Tony's way again, lingering for a moment too long.

"Have your Asguardian allies made you aware of the sorceress?" Nova Prime asked, breaking the short silence.

"We do not intend to leave them uninformed."

"Amora is certainly a powerful enemy," Loki added, sending a pointed look toward the screen where his brother's mouth thinned as he shifted next to Rhomann Dey. "But one we have dealt easily with before and one we can easily dispatch again."

"Luckily we have our own resident witch," Tony added. "Plus the great Wizard of Oz, here, swings a mean right hook. And is really good at throwing people out of windows."

"Let's just hope she hasn't got a broom stick." Steve said, sharing a brief glance with Thor before he pushed on. "We're still in negotiations with one of our people in order to find some place to direct all this. We want as few civilian casualties as possible."

"Understandable," Nova Prime nodded her head, lips pursing. "Denarian Dey?"

"Our fleet is easily maneuverable," Rhamonn replied. "You point us in the right direction and we'll be there."

Peter snapped his fingers from the flanks. "Could you guys do that net thing again?"

Nova Prime hummed. "It's certainly a possibility."

"Net thing?" Steve asked, turning to raise a brow at Quill.

"It's a defensive mechanism to contain outside attacks, developed whene we were at war with the Kree." Nova Prime replied. "While I don't think you have the sources to blanket Terra, we'd have enough to direct them once we see where Thanos might attempt to breach."

"You think that'd help?" Steve asked, turning to regard Tony. "You're our man in the sky, after all."

"It certainly couldn't hurt." Tony met his gaze and held it, hesitating only for a moment. "What do you think?"

"Seems to be the best solution we've got so far to direct Thanos' fleet." Steve said, turning back to the screen. "If you're willing to do it, of course."

"We are," Rhamonn nodded, then added quickly. "With permission from Nova Prime, if course."

Nova Prime's lips twitched. "Granted, Denarian."

"We'll take it up with our people then." Steve concluded.

"I do believe we can call this meeting to an end, then. I am happy to hear that my people have arrived safely. We will keep communications open for any further issue or strategy."

"We'll be in touch." Steve said, gracious as he tipped his head.

One of the screens flickered into nothing. In the one next to it, Denarian Dey dipped his head and bowed out.  Thor shifted from foot to foot in the projection. 

"I too must take my leave, there is much to prepare here." The god said, shooting his brother a pointed look. "Behave."

"I'll be nothing but cordial," Loki canted his head forward. "Stay alert, Odinson. Amora will put her sights on you, as she always does."

"I am fully aware of her habits." Thor said flatly. "She will cause me no more harm than she has previously."

"I suppose you're ignoring the two months you spent under her spell as her lap dog a century ago?"

"I was younger then, less wise to her ways." Thor replied, bristling at the memory.

"Of course," A slow smile spread over his face. "Do watch your back, brother, dear. Mr. Stark?"

Tony cleared his throat past some measure of amusement.  "Until next time, big guy."

Thor inclined his head in semblance of a bow, and then abruptly vanished from view.

"Well. That was better than expected." Bucky said, glancing at Steve briefly.

"Did you think it would be a disaster?" Steve asked, expression dry.

"Never know with you lot."

By the table, Tony burst into a fit of snickering as Loki finished muttering something and stepped away. His shoulders drew up a bit as he curled a fist in front of his mouth, eyes bright as the lights in the room leveled out from the dim tint they'd taken. Amusement was a good look on him.

"Puppy love," he muttered and waved a hand when Natasha pursed her lips. "Ah, forget it. Long story involving Thor being an Asgardian equivalent to a Golden Retriever."

"Focus, Tinman." Clint grunted.

"Right.  Yeah.  Totally." Tony glanced over at him before looking to Steve. "You want the lead on this one?"

Steve shook his head, gaze even as he met Tony's eyes. "This one's yours. Been that way since the beginning, so it's only fair you see it through."

After a moment, Tony gave an aborted jerk of his head; nodding.

"Alright," he said, focus falling back to their gathering. "Thanos: what's his deal? Strengths, weaknesses, favorite NSYNC member? Other than Amora and the Chitauri, does he have any allies we need to watch out for?"

"Oh!" Peter straightened. "Cyborg girl!"

Gamora shot him a withering look. He shrugged.

"Cyborg girl?" Tony prompted.

With some trepidation, Gamora crossed her arms over her chest. "Nebula. The other daughter of Thanos."

"What's her deal?" Clint asked.

Pulling himself up to sit on the table, Groot twined around his arm, Rocket grunted. "Well, other than bein' bat shit crazy, she's got some serious anger issues."

"I'd be pretty pissed if big, purple and crazy was my dad." Bucky shrugged.

"So, she'll side with her father." Steve said, brows furrowing in for a moment, trying desperately not to look too hard at the raccoon and the tree sitting on the table. "Will she be difficult to deal with?"

" _If_ Nebula shows, I will take care of her." Gamora insisted.

"This is a personal thing, then?" Steve asked.

"She is my sister," Gamora replied. "She will listen to reason."

"And when she doesn't?" Tony asked.

"She will."

"Yeah, okay, sure. But when she doesn't, will you be able to make the right decision?" Tony leaned forward, hands resting on the table between them. "Because if it's between _your_  sister and the world? I'm not picking your sister."

Steve shot Tony a glance. "Might be best to leave the family dispute alone."

"And let someone on this team take a hit because Mary-Kate and Ashley can't work it out? No." Tony's brows drew together, his shoulders drawing tight. "Absolutely not. If she's there, if she's causing a problem, we take her out. There's no decision to be made, here."

Before Steve could properly chide him or Drax could voice the confusion scrawled over his face, Gamora vaulted the table in a quick and graceful move. Rocket barely scrambled out of the way in time as she moved with precise efficiency, gravitating into Tony's space, wrapping her fingers around his neck before he could even step back, and lifting.

Tony let out a choked sound and a cacophony of protests flooded the space between them.

"Gamora, hey!" Peter moved to round the table, but Natasha stepped in his way and he held his hands up as he swayed back.  "I was just--"

"Get your psycho friend under control!" Clint snapped, a baton already pulled from its holster and lengthened.

Sam held out his hands; placating. "Everybody just needs to _calm down_ \--"

"You will not touch her," Gamora hissed. "Thanos has made and unmade her. You will let me give her redemption."

Someone moved to pull them apart, but Tony waved a hand, clutching at Gamora's wrist with the other. "Won't--" he hitched. "Won't touch."

Her eyes narrowed and the room fell to an uneasy hush as she lowered him. "She has done many wrong things, but so have I. If she fights at Thanos' side, I will take care of her--one way or the other."

"Good plan," Tony wheezed, giving an aborted little nod, face turning red. "Lemme go."

For a moment, her fingers tightened. Peter called her name one more time and with a snarl of a sound she released Tony and stored stepped away.

Steve had moved to settle by Tony's side as he was released, gaze hard as he tracked Gamora's movements. Beside him, Bucky moved with a grim kind of quiet, motions smooth as he stopped to stand between them, a tension up his spine.

"Well. That was dramatic." Rocket grunted, brash as he returned to his previous seat.

"For what it's worth, I apologize." Tony rubbed a hand at his throat, voice a little rough. "I understand it's difficult, being on opposite sides from someone you care about."

Gamora took a breath and then nodded. "You seem an honorable man, Stark. I understand why you would want to defend your battle brethren against anything by means of any force. If she... if I cannot sway Nebula, I would not be against having help to subdue her."

"Consider her subdued," Tony bobbed his head, quickly adding. "If necessary, of course."

"For now, lets hope she decides not to side with daddy dearest." Sam said, the tension in the room evaporating as quickly as it had come into being.

"Right," Tony twisted to face the everyone else. "Any other notable family members we should look out for teaming up with Thanos? No? Anyone else need a drink?"

Clint raised his hand.

"Okay, fifteen minute break. We'll meet back here and talk Infinity Stones. Not quite as cool as The Rolling Stones, but equally as deadly." Tony clapped his hands and Natasha moved into action, guiding the Guardians away and toward the doors that lead to their temporary living quarters as FRIDAY's voice lead them away. "Cap?"

Steve glanced at him after a moment, concern still marring his expression. "Hm?"

"Walk with me," Tony gestured with a swing of his head.

Steve hesitated for only a moment before he fell into step beside Tony, offering Bucky a brief glance as he moved away.  "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah, actually." Tony made a jerky movement, as if he meant to put a hand in Steve's shoulder to guide them out if the conference room and toward the mess where they kept the French press, but thought better of it. "Thanks for, uh... letting me take the lead in there. The strategy business is more your gig, but I appreciate you letting me middle man between us and, well, them."

Steve offered him a smile and an easy shrug of his shoulders. "All of this was your idea, so you know more about it than I do. Besides, I'm a soldier, not a negotiator."

"Still," Tony stopped them and Steve did too, nobody but them and the massive glass panes that lined the east side of the corridor. "I appreciate it. You didn't have to. You could've made me fight for it, but you didn't--haven't been, really, not since the trial--and I just--I noticed. It's not usually your MO, you tend to like your fingers in all of the pies, which admittedly made me more than abut wary at first, but a... mutual friend expressed that I might try and stop expecting the other shoe to drop."

Tony shifted, palming the back of his head. His expression was tight but genuine. Earnest.

Something Steve hadn't gotten to see in a long time.

"And I might still be expecting it anyways, which is why I jump down your throat every time you--" he sighed, a ragged and impatient sound. "But we have to get over it. At least for now. For this. I have to get over it because the only chance we have is...trusting each other."

Steve shuffled on his feet, and moved to nudge gently at Tony's shoulder. "I know I've got a lot to make up for, but I trust we can both work together on this. I trust your judgement on this."

"Oh. Good. Okay. Awesome." Tony's eyes went a little wide, but then he was walking and Steve was pacing along next to him. "Well, then I guess I should return the favor. Trust for trust, right?"

"If you wanna do that, then yeah. " Steve replied, no bite in his tone. "But I'm not gonna push for something I haven't earned."

"Wow," Tony stopped again. "Okay. Um. Who are you and where is Steven?"

When he caught sight of the way Steve's jaw flexed, his eyes went a but wide and his hands flailed out.

"Sorry. Rude, I know." Tony cleared his throat. "I just... thank you. For not pushing. But I do have something you should know about."

"What kind of something?" Steve asked.

"Well, originally it was a top secret something because I know that it isn't the wisest idea, but I also know it's our best shot at ending this fight with the earth still in one piece. Mostly." Tony's hands wrung together as they walked, his gaze down as he made mild gestures. "The only thing is, if I tell you, I need your word that you won't tell anyone else. But I need you to know. If it's successful, I need someone there to keep things moving. To keep the battle going as needed and to keep anyone from getting in the way. You're the leader, so I figured for strategy purposes and my own peace of mind, that would be you."

Steve had slowed almost to a halt by the time Tony had finished talking, a furrow forming between his brows. "I don't think I like where this is going. What have you been planning?"

"Cap," Tony twisted around to face him, fingers curling and uncurling where he dropped them to his sides. "Do I have your word you won't tell anyone or not?"

Steve was silent for a heavy moment, jaw flexing before he nodded. "Yeah. You have my word."

"Okay," Tony huffed, looking somehow smaller, voice coming in a rush when he spoke.  "Loki and Heimdal are going to secret the Tesseract away from Asgard and I'm going to use it to power the Orion."

Steve blinked at him. "You're using the Tesseract? Can you even contain it?"

"With the right container," Tony nodded. "I'm using the rest of the Vibranium from building Bucky's arm."

There was a pause between them, and Tony fell under the full inspection of Steve's gaze. "You're not planing on coming back from this, are you."

For a long minute, Tony was quiet. His mouth twitched, jaw going tight, and for a moment after that he would not meet Steve's eyes.

Then he did.

There was a determination in the lines around his eyes, a hardness around them and his mouth. He stood up straighter, taller, which next to Steve did not amount to much.

"Planning? No." He said. "Hoping? Of course. But going supernova with a magical space stone in my chest that can disintegrate people and tear holes through the very fabric of reality doesn't leave a lot to statistical probabilities of success."

He sighed again, shuffling a step forward. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small thumb drive, holding it out to Steve.

"It's a last resort but likely our only chance." Tony added, tone softening some. "I'd appreciate it if you were on my side for this."

"Tony, I-"  Steve started, cutting himself off with a sharp sound, hissed out in frustration. He breathed out a long sigh, expression set grim as he reached out to take the thumb drive. "I don't like it. But for you, I'll give you my word. I'll figure out what to tell them if it comes to it, but only if it does."

As Steve took the drive, Tony's fingers tightened over it briefly. Then he released, letting a breath go with it as he shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"That's got all you need to know on it--strategy plans for what happens after, if it doesn't work and if it does. I'll carry the Tesseract for the battle, but there's a hatch; I won't use it's power until the last moment. Until Thanos touches down on earth." Tony gestured with his chin. "I've seen what the stones he's got can do. The second he sets foot on land, Code STOP goes into effect."

Steve eyed the drive with some suspicion before he tucked it into his pocket, away from prying eyes. "And what's Code STOP?"

"My stupid, terrible, overzealous plan." Tony grinned.

Steve paused for a second before he huffed out a dry laugh. "You sure do love your acronyms."

"Certainly makes naming things easier."

"Let's hope you don't have to name another one." Steve said.

"Yeah," Tony laughed. "Let's hope."

Steve looked him over briefly before he jerked his head back towards the others. "Come on. Before they start asking questions."

"Yeah," Tony bobbed his head, brushing by. "Yeah, okay."

Steve walked with him, expression returning to amicable neutrality, as if their conversation had never occurred, as if he couldn't feel the little drive and all the weight that came with it. He exchanged a brief glance with Bucky when he returned, but lingered by Tony's side a moment longer.

"I guess we should see if our guests have settled in?"

"Probably wise," Tony replied, already stepping away as if he hadn't just trusted Steve to bear some of the weight Tony kept on his shoulders.

* * *

It was early the next morning when Bucky found himself awake, unable to sleep through the early light of dawn and unwilling to remain idle in bed. He left Steve to the half light of common room, dressing quickly and as quietly as he could. Steve only stirred vaguely, rolling to take over the space Bucky had vacated with little more than a drowsy sigh. With one last fond look, Bucky disappeared out the door.

Hardly anyone stirred at this hour, and for once, Bucky had an entire kitchen to himself, jabbing at the coffee machine until it sputtered into life. He ran a lazy hand through the sleep messed tangle of his hair, breathing out a shaky sound as he made a grab for a coffee cup, cleaned to pristine white, unlike his one at home.

Bucky settled at the kitchen table for a time, idly staring out the window, watching as the sun peaked over the tree tops. Time enough passed for what was left of his coffee to go cold, and for his stomach to protest being awake for so long without being fed.

The fridge was as well stocked as he'd expected of anything owned by Tony. Leave it to him to overpack for everything, intergalactic meetings included, and not ten minutes later, Bucky had a package of bacon and several eggs frying on the stove top.

"Holy shit," A voice cracked behind him and Bucky twisted to see Peter padding in, rubbing a hand over the top of his head, looking fresh from soft sheets and a warm bed that he wasn't used to but thoroughly enjoyed. "Is that bacon? I haven't had real bacon since I was a kid."

Bucky regarded him for a moment longer before he turned back to the stove top, shuffling the contents of the pan around. "Lucky for you there's plenty to share, then."

"No fooling?" Peter beamed.

Bucky surveyed the pan again, and gave a slightly reluctant nod. "Should be plenty between us."

"If that's a single pan and you intend to feed everyone here, that's a complete fabrication." Came Tony's gravely drawl as he paced into the room and headed straight for the coffee maker. "You and Cap alone would eat half that."

"I never said I was cookin' for everyone. Make your own damn breakfast." Bucky replied, an exasperated kind of fondness in his tone. "Besides, if Stevie sleeps in, he misses out."

Tony twisted, making a face, his nose scrunched up as he poured some fresh ground blend of far too expensive coffee into the bottom of the press. He didn't even have to look at it to know when to stop.

"You can't just start breakfast in the common room and not make it for everyone, Long John." Tony confided.

"I second that," Peter raised a hand, going a bit meek when Bucky cast a look his way. "Hey, I want bacon too."

Bucky heaved out a sigh, and moved to fetch another pan, rummaging through the fridge to try and find enough food for all of them. "Fine. I'll play cook. But I need more coffee for this shit."

"I got you, Buckaroo." Tony offered a lascivious wink, turning to face the press, and in so revealing the hint of a love bite just under his shirt collar.

Bucky whistled out a low sound, the slip of Tony's collar providing enough distraction for him not to protest the nickname. "Someone got lucky."

Tony blinked up at him. "Pardon?"

Bucky tapped his neck, matching the purpling bruise on Tony's. "You got a little something left over."

Tony smacked a hand over his neck, eyes going a bit wide. "Oh, that's--"

Suddenly, Peter was in his space, peaking at the hickey. "That's Gamora's handy work," he grinned.

"Really, Tony?" Natasha drolled as she padded into the room, stealing a piece of bacon Bucky had placed on the plate next to the stove top as he peeled out more strips to fry.  "Didn't she nearly kill you once already?"

Tony's expression devolved into something wicked. "More than once now."

"I'd disparage your sexual decisions, but I personally don't have any moral ground to stand on." Natasha muttered, opening a cabinet to pull out enough mugs for the three of them.

"Neither," Peter shrugged. "Been there, done that, would happily repeat it."

"I, however, have a leg to stand on." Bucky said, pining Tony with an amused look. "The green gal, really? You trying to incite her to take it out on you again?"

"Hey," Tony held his hands up, the picture of projected innocence. "It was a mutual decision to blow off some steam. Consider it team building."

"Certainly building somethin'." Bucky said, hardly hiding his grin as he went back to shuffling pans around.

"Was that--was that a terrible innuendo I just heard?" Tony pointed, eyes narrowing.

Bucky gave a shrug. "Maybe. If you took it that way."

"Oh, I'm looking at it that way."

"Looking at what, what way?" Steve asked, looking far too put together for someone who'd just rolled out of bed.

"Looking at that." Bucky explained, gesturing vaguely to the mark on Tony's neck, leaving the pans alone for long enough to pour Steve a cup of coffee, passing it over without further word.

Steve hummed out a sound, amused as he took the cup of coffee Bucky offered. "Someone got lucky."

"Very," Tony nodded. "Coffee, Nat?"

She held her mug out without a word.

"You're just gonna leave it with that?" Steve asked, reaching out to steal a piece of bacon from the pan, narrowly escaping the spatula Bucky swatted after his hand.

"I'd say it's because I'm a gentleman, but I'm far from it." Tony replied.

"But we aren't getting any more details." Bucky concluded, flipping an egg out of the pan before it burnt beyond ideal fried egg levels.

"Not from me, you're not." Tony sipped his coffee.

Natasha hummed, leaning against the counter next to him. "And why not?"

"Because he enjoyed himself far too much doing what we did," Gamora practically purred as she walked into the room, ghosting by Peter and sharing a small and secretive smile with him before settling at Tony's other side, elbow resting on his shoulder as age leaned into him. "Isn't that right?"

The tips of Tony's ears went a bit pink and Peter winked at him. "Out of the mouths of babes," he muttered, his own smile hidden against the rim of his mug.

"Nice to see the both of you have learnt to get along." Steve said, lips twitching into a smile. "Even if it is a little unorthodox."

"Like I said, team building."

"So that's what they call it these days." Steve replied, dry but not without amusement.

Gamora lifted a brow, lips twitching, still draped casually against Tony's side. When the silence, stretched a bit too thin, became heavy, Tony offered up his mug to her and the heavy sent pulled her focus away from Steve just as he started to shift on his feet.

"What is this?"

"The greatest gift you'll ever find on this planet," he promised.

"Way to talk it up." Bucky mumbled, mostly to himself as he nudged a plate of bacon and eggs Quill's way.

Peter gave him a wide eyed look; one that might have been Peter silently swearing his allegiance to Bucky and Bucky alone.  He took the plate and slid into place at the bar, balanced carefully on a stool as he dug in.

Soon, they all had plates heaping with food, the smell heavy and salty in the air.  They sat around the kitchen in various places-- Natasha was standing, swiping pieces of bacon from Tony's plate where he was sitting on the counter top.  Gamora had taken a spot next to Peter, sipping at the coffee Tony had poured for her, her nose wrinkling every time-- though she did not put the drink aside. 

It was not long before the rest of their group had woken and joined them.  Rocket kept himself busy fussing over the-- as Avengers had learned not long after their conversation with Nova Prime-- still growing Groot, keeping him in the light so that he might grow a bit faster.  An entire pan of bacon went to Drax, while Sam and Clint blinked sleep from their eyes and murmured their thanks as they tucked into the breakfast laid out for them.

* * *

While Peter had been very reluctant to leave the Milano on her own, hidden and cloaked carefully on Tony's property, he did so when Tony promised to let him ride shotgun on the way back to the Tower when they left. 

The impromptu Expo was right around the corner, and despite only a month's notification, there was already more than enough public interest that Tony had high hopes of it going off without so much as a hiccup.  Still, Pepper needed him back at the Tower to finish planning, and he would need to be there to greet the handful of Xandarian refugees and Nova Corps that Vision and Wanda had hand selected from the recently landed group to speak at the event. 

There was a young woman-- the wife of Denarian Dey-- who could craft using nothing but light.  He intended to give her a booth to not only show her craftmanship, but sell it.  If there was anything Americans understood, it was new and useful resources that could be bought and sold. It was people like her and a few others who would be showing off some of the tech from the Xandarian system that would be the key to cementing a safe haven for them and their kind on earth.

The moment they arrived back at the Tower, Tony was already delineating tasks.  He had Vision down in the lab finishing up what parts of the Orion he trusted him with while Tony worked with Pepper to organize the main event.  Steve and Quill had hit the gym with both of their crews in order to begin assessing strengths and weaknesses; Gamora had been plotting with Natasha on strategy while Clint chimed in with the occasional suggestion, not used to taking the backseat to such tasks. Even Scott and his hacker buddies were busy coming up with their own section for the Expo while Scott balanced training sessions on the mat.

It was when Pepper left in a tizzy, phone clutched in hand as she muttered something about the early arrival of guests, that Tony realized just how tired he was.  He was in one of the lower R&D labs, working with Parker on the final touches to some of the Avengers' gear, slumped slightly and woozy even with a fresh cup of coffee held precariously in Butterfingers' clutch in front of his nose.

"Uh... Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice cracked, and Tony blinked up at him.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Are you, um-- like, are you okay?" Peter asked, a screwdriver twirling idly and deftly over his fingers. 

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem kinda out of it," Peter admitted, ducking his head a bit when Tony's brow furrowed.  "There's-- I know there's a lot going on.  The Expo.  The big thing looming overhead that you aren't talking about.  And I know that the, um, the Accords are getting voted on next week.  It's just... seems a bit overwhelming."

For a moment, Tony considered lying.  He opened his mouth and everything.

Then, he decided against it.  "It is."

"Oh," Peter blinked.  "Well.  Is there-- I mean, is there anything I can help with?"

Tony's lips pressed thin.  He took a slow breath, leaned forward to let his elbows rest on the workbench between them, and pinned Peter with a look. 

"Actually," Tony nodded.  "There is."

"What?  I can help.  No matter what it is.  You need me to get something for you?  Test something? I can test something."

"Jesus, kid." Tony laughed.  "Slow down."

"Right.  Sorry."

"Parker," Tony's voice dipped a bit, fingers lacing in front of himself.  "You remember what you said?  When I first showed up and asked you to help me bring Rogers in?"

"Kinda?" Peter scratched the back of his head.  "Is this about the whole homework thing?  I promise, I'm keeping my grades up, Mr. Stark. I--"

"I know, kid." Tony held up a hand.  "And I don't mean that.  I mean, the thing you said about helping people-- when you can do the things that you do, that _we_ do, but you don't... it's your fault?"

Peter's gaze strayed downward.  "Uh.  Yeah.  Yeah, I remember that."

"You're not wrong about the something big happening, Underoos." Tony said.  "And I know how you feel about... inaction.  But I need you to make me a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

"The kind that you probably won't like."

There was a pause.  Between them, there was just hushed whir and click of metal on metal, machines working quiet in the margins, new body armor fabricating on one of the tables just behind Peter, black and solid and strong.

"Okay."

Tony nodded.  "There's gonna be a fight.  A big fight.  I know you can't just stand down, but I want you to-- I need you to promise that you won't get in the middle.  Help, yes.  We'll need all the help we can get.  But... I need you to stay on the outskirts.  Get people to safety, that kinda thing."

Peter's mouth pressed into a thin line.  His gaze strayed.  Tony had to duck to catch it again.

"Think you can do that for me?  It'd take a load off my conscience."

Peter sighed, shoulders sagging, but he gave a tentative nod.  "Yeah.  Yeah, Mr. Stark, I can do that."

"It's not that I don't think you got it, kid.  You do.  But-- you _are_ a kid.  It wouldn't be right to ask you to fight this fight where we are."

"I-- Yeah.  I get that." Peter nodded again, more firm this time.  "But I can help?"

Tony grinned.  "Spiderboy, you already are."

Peter beamed.

* * *

"What if Thanos gets here before the Expo?" Natasha asked, voice low, even though it was only her, Clint, and Steve out on the balcony. 

Clint made a face, drink dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the railing.  "Come on, Nat."

"It's something we might have to contend with," Natasha frowned.  "It wouldn't be pretty.  There won't be a chance for acceptance.  Just... chaos."

"It's certainly a possibility." Steve admitted, expression grim. "I'm hoping it doesn't go that way, though."

"Hope," Natasha muttered, tipping a bottle to her lips.

"Are we ready? Shit storm aside, that's implying we even survive if he rolls up early." Clint waved a hand. "Are we ready?"

Steve fell silent for a moment, fingers twitching against the railing. His mind drifted back to the thumb drive Tony had given him, tucked safely out of sight and he nodded.

"One way or another, we're ready for this."


	21. Chapter 20: Golden Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters might not be on schedule for these last rounds. They're the thick ones that take a little extra time. 
> 
> #sorrynotsorry

Like old clockwork, Bucky arrived at the door to Tony's lab, lunch in hand. It might have been any other day, if not for the steady tension that had settled over the Tower. The sight of a new suit of armor, hanging lifeless in the lab, cemented their fate; Bucky couldn't help the cold turn of resignation that washed over him.

It always ended in a fight.

He looked away from the armor, turning instead to their resident genius, a smile quirking his lips as he placed lunch on the bench between them. "Alright, Einstein. Break time."

"Five more minutes, pumpkin." Tony muttered, focus never pulling away from the boot he was crouched next to, screw driver twisting in one hand as he tightened something down with a hiss.

Bucky huffed out a flat sound and settled on a vacant stool. "At least you're making progress. Nearly done, by the looks of it."

"Almost," Tony nodded, watching as the hydraulics shifted and eased apart and together seamlessly, eyes narrowing on a hiccup in the movement that only he could see.

"Things are getting tense around camp." Bucky remarked, almost casual.

Finally, Tony frowned and blinked up. "Pardon?"

Bucky huffed out a laugh and shot Tony a fond look. "Just as well I wasn't saying something important."

"Oh. That's good then." His gaze strayed to the food Bucky had brought and he instantly perked, voice affecting an old Hollywood accent even as he made ridiculous grabby hands. "James, darling, moon of my delight, you _shouldn't_ have."

Bucky rolled his eyes, and he moved the food over, just within Tony's reach. "And yet here we are. Eat. You'll need it."

"Don't know what I'd do without you," Tony offered a wry grin.

"Likely subsist on coffee and protein smoothies alone, sir." FRIDAY chimed overhead.

Tony just nodded around a big bite. "Likely."

"More like give me an ulcer from the stress. " Bucky said flatly.

Tony paused just long enough to bat his lashes up at Bucky. "Aw, muffin top, you worry about me that much?"

"Someone has to." Bucky shrugged. "Where'd all the nicknames come from, dollface?"

"Bucky," Tony pointed a screw driver at him as he plucked it up, balancing his lunch with the other, though Bucky didn't miss the flush that turned the back of Tony's neck red. "Your _name_ is a nickname. You can't fight something that you live every day with."

He paused again, moving to tighten the screw in the release valve, only to loosen it again in the next second. He frowned, huffing to himself.

"Besides, I've been calling you names from day one."

"Yeah, ‘cause my dad's name was James, and it didn't help when there were two of us in the house." Bucky replied. "If you wanna play the nickname game, you can. But I'll win."

Tony snorted, barely sparing a glance. "I doubt that. Rhodey thought I'd run out of petnames years ago, but he's still my platypus."

"Alright then, sweetheart. If you wanna start this, we can. " Bucky grinned.

"Is this a challenge? Are you _challenging_ me?"

"I dunno, am I?” Bucky asked, raising a brow at him.

"Alright," Tony straightened out. "Challenge officially accepted, Stinson."

Bucky blinked, a furrow between his brows, but he let the name slide for the sake of his own pride. "Once upon a time, people used to tell me I had a silver tongue."

"Don't let Loki hear you say that," Tony replied. "He'll probably get offended--"

"Boss?" FRIDAY cut in, voice terse.

Tony took an equally solemn tone, though his expression was nothing but mockery. "FRIDAY."

"We have company."

"Bad company?" His gaze went to the elevator doors outside of the thick, reinforced glass. "Or good company?"

"I suppose that depends--"

Tony shot to his feet as the lift doors slid open, Pepper striding out with someone very short and very familiar walking next to her. He rushed by Bucky, the lab doors already hissing to allow them entry. The boy at Pepper's side had wide eyes and a wider smile, and Tony was headed straight for him, completely ignoring Pepper's amusedly pursed lips and Bucky's bemusement.

The kid met him halfway, ratty jeans and wild hair, already spreading his arms. Tony didn't even falter.

"Mr. Stark!"

Tony crouched to ease into the embrace, though he was quick to spring back, like he was embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "What the hell are you doing here, kiddo?"

"Ms. Potts flew me in for the Youth Outreach Program," he rocked up onto his toes, eyes darting around the lab and landing on the new suit. "Whoa! You updated!"

"You got taller!" Tony replied and then looked to Pepper. "Youth Outreach Program?"

"For the Expo. The brightest young minds from around the world will be present." Pepper smiled. "You asked me to make it work and nothing works better than potential scholarships for the biggest minds of tomorrow."

Tony rested a hand over his chest. "Marry me."

"When I already run your company and buy myself the nicest things on your dime?" Pepper lifted a sly brow, pointedly glancing at the love bite still fading from his skin. "Unlikely."

"Do you hear this woman, Harley? Never date a woman who is smarter than you. You'll never win."

Harley hummed noncommittally, then perked again at the sight of Bucky hovering. "Is that a cybernetic _arm_?"

Tony huffed out a laugh. "Barnes, come meet Harley, my potato gun protégé. Harley, this is Bucky."

Bucky eyed the boy for a moment, but was quick to recover when he saw how well Tony took to him. He offered Harley a hand, metal plates clicking to rearrange with the movement. "Pleased to meet you, kid."

"This is the coolest thing I've ever seen." Harley shook his hand, eyes never leaving the rapidly moving plates.

"The mechanic's handy work," Tony confided.

Pepper crossed her arms. "The mechanic?"

"Private joke," he tipped his chin up.

Pepper scoffed.

Bucky flexed his fingers a little as he cast a glance toward Pepper, giving her a polite nod in greeting before he returned his attention to Harley. "Your friend here was real generous. Moves like a dream."

"What does it run on? What kind of metal is it? An alloy? Is it completely integrated to your nervous system? Can I _have_ one?"

"Easy, small fry." Tony placed his hands on Harley's shoulders and eased him away. "Don't overload the poor man. He only has one arm."

Pepper tried and failed to muffle the laugh that was startled out of her, and then went bright red. "I'm-- Tony, that's not-- You can't make _jokes_ like that-- He's a _war veteran_ , it isn't funny to-- _christ_."

"It's a little funny," Tony argued.

"No." Pepper frowned.

"Twelve percent funny?"

" _Tony_ \--"

"It's fine, ma'am. There's no fun in being an amputee if you can't make one armed jokes." Bucky said, a smile on his face. "I'm not actually sure what this thing runs on. Old one was kinetic, which kinda sucked cause every so often a wire would shift and I'd get zapped."

Harley eagerly looked up at Tony.

"Nope. Trade secret. Not telling." He stepped away.

Harley gaped. "But Mr. _Stark_ ," he called already following after him, leaving Pepper and Bucky to look on.

"Did you bring that for him?" she asked as Harley pestered Tony and Tony took wicked, childish delight in denying him, gesturing to the lunch Tony had barely begun.

Bucky nodded. "He doesn't eat unless you make him."

Pepper twisted to face him, lips pressing thin for a second before she nodded. "It's nice of you."

Bucky shrugged, and glanced away from her, eyes falling on where Tony was giving Harley a tour. "It's routine by now."

"Is it?" She asked, though it wasn't necessarily surprise in her tone.

"Kinda." Bucky said. "And we could use a little routine these days."

"How long?" Her head cocked slightly, ponytail swishing, and if it wasn't for the shrewd look on her eyes--the narrowness, the pursing of her lips with their perfect lipstick--the look might've been innocent curiosity.

"How d’you mean?" Bucky asked, meeting her gaze evenly. "How long what?"

"How long did it take for this," Pepper made a sweeping gesture-- to the food, to the lab, to Tony, "to become routine? Before or after the arm?"

Bucky regarded her for a moment, expression flickering. "After. Started a couple days after."

Pepper hummed, stepping forward a bit, hands folded neatly in front of her. She was an inch or so taller than him in the shoes she was wearing.

"That's nice," she said. "Gratitude. Routine. How long will it last? Until this is all over?"

Bucky took a slow breath, but didn't move to accommodate her, only tilting his head just slightly. "Until he doesn't need a babysitter anymore."

Her brow rose again. "Is that what you're doing? Babysitting?"

Bucky gave a shrug. "We keep each other out of trouble. Although, it's mostly me making sure he doesn't wreck the shop; making sure he eats. Does that bother you?"

"Not at all," Pepper shook her head, smile patient but firm--as though she were handling one of the board members and not a super soldier. "I'm just...concerned. You call this routine. But what happens after? When this is all over and the pieces are picked back up? You see, Tony has had routine before. Maybe not with you, but with others I'm sure you're familiar with."

She paused, waited, let it sink in a bit. Her eyes strayed to where Tony was introducing Harley to one of the bots.

"I just want to make sure he's not growing accustom to a routine that is just temporary." Pepper met and held Bucky's gaze, and he knew that she wasn't just asking about him anymore-- but Steve and maybe some of the others that would follow Steve too. "Like babysitting, right? You'd want someone that would stick with it. Someone you could trust to be around for a while. Not someone fleetingly grateful, someone momentary, someone biding their time."

Bucky's fingers flexed, and his expression flickered but he otherwise remained still. "I get that you're concerned, but frankly I'm not sure what you want me to say here. I can't tell you what's gonna happen in the future, I'm not sure if we're even gonna _have_ a future, and I really can't tell you what someone else is gonna do in the meantime. He's done enough to win my loyalty, which is no small feat. So, maybe it might be best if you cut the shit, and stop trying to fend things off before they happen. _If_ they even happen."

Head tipping back, she hummed, unfazed or at least unwilling to show him if his frustration had any effect on her. Then she smiled, slow and sure.

"Your loyalty," she repeated, as if it was the only thing she heard. "That's good. Thank you for taking care of him."

"Didn't do it for your thanks." Bucky said, even enough to pass for amicable as he moved from the bench he'd occupied, walking past her without a dismissal.

"Mr. Barnes, Mr. Barnes," Harley waved an eager hand as he approached, though his focus was torn between him and the small robot unfolding before him.

Or perhaps it was growing.

"Look at this!" Harley gushed, poking at the shifting mass as it swiveled around his finger. "Actual, real life, nanotechnology."

Tony stood just behind him, grinning in delight as Harley manipulated the moving parts around the magnetic field in which the mass seemed to live. He glanced up after a moment, seeing the frown still creasing Bucky's face and faltering.

His shoulders drew up, fingers going tight where he had his hands on his hips, and he searched Bucky's face before his gaze darted back toward the suit where Pepper was looking on. Instantly, his shoulders dropped, and he slouched slightly, pausing long enough to check and make sure Harley was appropriately distracted before he moved over to clap a hand on Bucky's good shoulder.

"I don't know what she said, but forget it. She's my Pepper and she worries, that's all." Tony assured him, though it was vague enough that Bucky could recognize that Tony didn't exactly know what he was telling Bucky to forget. "I didn't make her the CEO because she's got a sweet and gentle disposition."

"Don't worry about it. She's just looking out for you." Bucky said quietly, hardly moving with the hand that Tony placed on his shoulder. He cleared his throat after a moment and gestured to the nanobots. "I didn't know you had those."

"They're old, actually. From back before Ultron." Tony admitted. "When I was working on integrating the suit into my skeletal system. Never quite finished the process-- Killian kinda blew my mansion up."

Bucky whistled out a sound. "You still gonna do it? Being a cyborg isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Maybe," Tony shrugged, hands dropping to tuck away into his jean pockets. "It isn't exactly something I could snap my fingers and finish. I'd have some tinkering to do. Probably get the Cradle involved considering, so that'd mean calling Helen. Plus, there's the whole hang up of actual osseointegration, which would be far more messy than your own procedure seeing as it would involve my entire skeletal system, and I'd probably die trying to do the entire thing but-- maybe. If I could hotwire it into a virus like Extremis it might come in handy in a life or death situation, but I'm babbling and undoubtedly losing you by this point."

"You're the brains if this outfit, remember?" Bucky said, a little smile lightening his features. "You lost me."

"How about we just leave it as an _it's complicated_ and move on?"

"I like the sound of that."

“Good,” Tony nodded, focus falling back to Harley as the kid managed to manipulate the nanobots into swirling around his fingertips. “Thanks for lunch, by the way.”

"Don't worry about it." Bucky shrugged. "How'd you meet the kid?"

"I broke into his garage."

Bucky glanced at him, amused. "You broke into a kid’s garage?"

"There were a lot of contributing factors." Tony shrugged. "It worked out well."

"At least you didn't tell me he's yours." Bucky shrugged. 

Tony nearly choked on his tongue, sputtering into laugher, eyes wrinkling at the corners. 

* * *

 

“You’re telling me that if I had turned this into a half marathon, I could’ve saved upwards of twenty thousand dollars renting the place out to half capacity?” Tony asked, fussing over his tie in the mirror, lifting a brow where Pepper was scrolling through the expenses on a tablet in the reflection.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Tony scoffed.  “It’s twenty thousand.  What does that mean to me?”

“Tuition for two semesters at a four-year college?” Pepper glanced up.

“Not at MIT.  Or any California university for that matter.”

“Those aren’t the only higher education systems in the world, Tony.  Not even in the US.”

Tony waved a hand.  “Yeah, yeah.  I know you went to a small land grant college for undergrad, Pep.  You can stop touting it.”

“Small doesn’t mean bad, Tony.”

He paused long enough to meet her gaze in the mirror, waggling his brows.  With a fond roll of her eyes, she stepped forward and undid his tie. 

“Hey!”

“It’s not your usual fanfare, Tony.  It’s not a night out; there aren’t any board members in the audience.” Pepper muttered, pressing to his back, working the top two buttons of his shirt open and smoothing down his collar before she reached up to ruffle his hair.  “There’s press, sure.  But there’s also kids, there’s families, there’s geeks.  Far more casual.”

He let her smooth down his lapels and untuck his shirt.  With his hair not meticulously in place, he almost looked like he was about to head to the lab for a few hours of work—not like he was putting on the war paint.

It was a minor adjustment but a necessary one.

“Think we can do it?”

Pepper pursed her lips, craning forward a bit to rest her chin on his shoulder.  “I think you’ve got exactly forty-six hours to try and convince the world that aliens aren’t all bad.”

“Only forty-six?”

“With the last minute notice, it was as much as I could swing without blatant underhanded bribery.” Pepper replied.  “And that doesn’t account for the extra ten thousand I had to throw in because we weren’t within the thirty days’ notice boundary.”

“You vixen.”

“I only bat my eyes _once_.”

“Virginia Potts, what _would_ you mother say?”

“She’d be happy I was finally putting my feminine wiles to good use.” She straightened out and squeezed at his shoulders.  “Ready?”

“Am I ever?”

“Let’s get out there.”

* * *

 

Central Park, as it usually was on a sunny spring day, was filled with people.  Today, unlike most days, there were banners hung up on the light poles that lined the paths and the Mall announcing the date and the Stark Expo.

Like most conventions, there was quite a bit of security lining the paths, though not to keep anyone out.  Usually, they would have had this announced a year in advance and tickets would have sold out the moment the media caught wind of it.  The surprise of this one had left them without many options; it had been Pepper that had decided it would be free and open to the public, along with the guests that they flew in special for the event. 

Even still, there were barriers and there was security around the main sections.  Tony had reserved the entirety of the Mall—throwing plenty of joggers off their routine paths—and lined it with booths showing everything from winning science fair projects to advanced technological devices that the Xandarians had brought with them.  There were vendors passing out New York favorites like hotdogs and cotton candy as they breezed through, while more stationary carts had been anchored down off to the side with queues already forming so that they could try galactically exotic foods.

When Tony stepped out of his car on Central Park West just after making a right off of 72nd, Happy holding the door open for him, he caught sight of a gaggle of kids bouncing around and carrying balloons in the shapes of stars floating along behind them.  He grinned, despite the sudden flash of cameras, and accepted the coming swarm of enthusiastic fans with a gold Sharpie in hand.

Behind him, Peter fidgeted uselessly with his camera, glasses that he didn’t need shoved up high on the bridge of his nose.  “Um, Mr. Stark?” he called over the noise.

“Yeah, Parker?”

“We’re gonna be late.”

Tony cast a look over his shoulder, smile going broad.  “I’m never late, kid.”

Still, he clapped a hand onto Peter’s shoulder and squeezed.  Making his excuses, he slid through the crowd as Happy and another guard cleared the way for the two of them.

The setup had taken most of the morning.  It was geared to last the weekend—all through Saturday and into Sunday—until they had to clear out and make space for a charity run that was going to take up the five-mile path looping around the park.  Tony had gotten lucky; Pepper had managed to not only squeeze them in to renting out half of Central Park for the event but had also come up with a good cover for the entire thing.

While everyone thought they were experiencing the Stark Expo’s “Science of the Stars”, they were really clearing the way for a number of intergalactic visitors and setting the stage for a big political push that would begin right on American soil and then spread beyond. At the end of the weekend, Tony had plans to put the policies for handling “space politics”—as he liked to call it—on the table and begin discussions on the team the UN would put together to deal with those things. 

He had T’Challa on speed dial and waiting in the wings.

“Tony!” Thor greeted them, standing dead center of the _Imagine_ mosaic as they entered the park.  “You have finally made it.”

“Thor,” he smiled and nodded to Steve where he was standing at Thor’s flank.  “How are things going?”

“Very well,” Thor beamed.  “The Lady Sif and Gamora are down by the fountain as you requested.  We intend to put on a demonstration for the Midgardians in Asgardian battle.”

“Has security cleared the area?”

“Of course,” Thor nodded.  “There is already quite the crowd.”

“You should get down there, then, big guy.”

“Of course.  Though, I fear I don’t know the way without taking to the air.”

Tony frowned.  “Where’s the Hammer?”

“Mjolnir is at the Terrace with Jane,” Thor grinned.  “There is a line of those trying to lift her from the ground.”

With a sigh, Tony glanced over at Peter and gestured with his chin.  “Mind escorting the god for a bit, kid?”

Peter’s eyes went wide.  “Not at all.”   

He cast one quick excited look back at Tony as he stepped away, leading Thor through the mess of people.  Biting the inside of his cheek, Tony watched them go, waving as they rounded the Strawberry field and headed toward the bridge.

When he looked back, Steve had a frown on his face and his brows were drawn in tight.  Without a word, Tony gestured for him to follow and Steve fell into step beside him as they made their way in the opposite direction.

“What’s with the face, Rogers?”

“Is that wise?  Letting them put on a _fighting_ demonstration?”

Tony laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “It’ll keep the crowds busy and wow them a bit. Nothing more.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Tony nodded and considered Steve out of his periphery for a moment.  “Barnes decided not to come?”

With a great sigh, jaw tensing, Steve nodded.  “Thought the crowds might be too much.”

“Makes sense.” Tony bobbed his head.  “How are you holding up with all of this?  I see you’ve got your armor on.”

Tony made a onehanded gesture toward Steve’s apparel.  He was decked out from head to toe in his Captain America regalia. All that was missing was the helmet.

Steve gave a stiff shrug. "Gives me a bit of a buffer. Although I'm glad I don't need it."

"Same here," Tony hummed.  "Though, honestly, I'm glad you wore it.  Grabs attention and it's good press for you with the Accords being turned over as we speak.  We're just lucky the Task Force is disbanded or we might have to worry about some big, black SUV pulling up and ruining all the fun." 

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Steve said. "Would put a bit of a damper on all this."

"A bit of one," Tony agreed. "Are you at least trying to have a little fun? Might be our last chance."

Steve gave a shrug. "Thor introduced me to his friends."

"Ah, the warriors." Tony dipped his head, grinning. "They're...interesting."

Steve's lips twitched up. "I wouldn't mind having them around."

"Hopefully they'll stick. We can use the extra hands."

"They'd be good in a fight." Steve admitted. "But I can't begrudge them the choice of wanting to stay out of it."

"Especially if we don't succeed," Tony agreed, waving to a group of twittering teens as they passed, smile plastered to his face. "Might be nice. Having a back-up plan for the universe."

"We will." Steve said, steadfast in his belief. "One way or another, we'll all come out of this."

Tony looked up at him then, something unyielding wrinkling at his eyes and around his mouth. "Yeah. You will."

"So will you." Steve told him. 

"Well," Tony shrugged. "That's a statistical probability we'll have to debate later."

He gestured forward to the crowd, all gathered before what looked like a marble seashell sticking straight out of the ground. There were holographics dancing around the stage, and overhead they could hear the deep baritone of Howard Stark discussing the future as if they weren't already in it. 

"I have a show to put on."

Steve slowed as Tony pulled ahead, gesturing towards the stage. "The people await. Give 'em hell."

"I always do, Captain." 

* * *

 

The stage was lit up with holographics, blue and white and yellow.  At the center of it was a life size Howard Stark, cut in a suit straight out of 1974, his hands folded behind his back as the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

Howard flickered for a moment and then held up a hand. 

“ _Thank you all, sincerely, for being here today.  It is a momentous occasion and my immense pleasure to invite you all into a world of the future,”_ Howard paced toward the front of the stage, eyes wrinkling in the corners in a way that was so akin to Tony’s smiles it was uncanny.  “ _Because the future is no longer a distant dream.  But it is today.”_

He flickered again, and then stepped aside, arm outstretched as Tony made his way onto the small stage.  The crowd rose to their feet, and the lights flickered up, even in the noontime daylight bright and effervescent as Tony waved and hushed them all with quiet hands.

As Tony neared the front of the opulent marble stage of the Naumburg Bandshell, he dipped his head at Howard’s projection.  Howard returned the gesture before flickering out of existence.

“The old man, old as he was, is right!” Tony’s voice echoed out over the audience—people filing in through the back even though the max capacity of the sitting area beyond the stage had already been well met with the forty-thousand or so faces that stood, waiting with hushed breath, excitement ringing between them.  “Today is the future.”

There was another long moment of cheering. Of applause.  Tony waited, smile broad.

“Thank you,” he muttered and began pacing over the stage to where the schematics for an old car rested, as if weighted by genuine gravity and not a projection of light.  “Now, I know this sort of thing would usually be held down at Flushing Meadows.  It’s where the Stark Expo was held in 1974.  It was where the World’s Fair was held back in 1939.  It’s where I had my own Expo back in 2009.  But today I thought we might try something a little different.”

Tony rested his hand over the top of the projected car, and instantly the wheels folded down and the car seemed to hover just above the stage floor.

“My old man thought this would be the future, back when he first showed up at the World’s Fair.” Tony started, the quiet murmur that had thread through the crowd lulling.  “Now, my dad was a brilliant man.  Made weapons when we needed them most and helped improve technology exponentially for the times.  But he was also limited in ways that we, as the human race, no longer are.

“Today, and throughout the rest of this weekend, you aren’t going to see flying cars.” He grinned at the chorus of boos that rose up.  “Sorry, sorry, let me rephrase.  You aren’t _just_ going to see flying cars.  You’re going to see technology that goes beyond our own. There is more to our world than just earth—there’s an entire universe out there, just waiting for us to open our eyes. 

“That’s why I decided to unveil this event to you today.  A chance, not only for us to see some of today’s future world changers, but to experience the future of today in the science—and, as some might be keen on calling it—the _magic_ of worlds outside of our own.” Tony spread his arms, winking at one particularly loud wolf whistle.  “So welcome!  To the Stark Expo’s _Science of the Stars_!”

Behind him the slowly rotating schematics swirled in, holographics lighting up, exploding out in a burst of sparks and raining down. The audience clambered to their feet, cheering and clapping. 

Tony stepped aside, gesturing to the back of the Bandshell as a film rolled to life, images from the labs at R&D projecting onto the sleek marble slate, cutting between images of the attractions that littered the park area as FRIDAY’s voice chimed overhead and Tony stepped out of the way as she began narrating the images and what the small Expo had to offer for the public for the next two days.

Stepping into the wings, Tony smoothed his hair back, shaking out his hands as Happy held out a bottle of water—not handing it to him, but holding it out in offering.  Tony smiled and plucked it up.

“You did good, boss.” Happy muttered.  “There’s already videos popping up on YouTube.”

“Good,” Tony bobbed his head, uncapping the water and taking a pull.  “Why do I feel like I just ran a marathon?”

Happy shrugged, but his smile was sly.  “I don’t think you’ve even been on stage sober before, boss.”

Tony’s nose wrinkled.

There was a small clatter and Tony craned over to see a small, pink skinned Xandrian girl tugging along some complex looking collection of glass and metal tubes.  His brow went up as Pepper filed up the stairs behind her, helping her pluck up a small brass stick when she dropped it.

“The show must go on,” Pepper said as she brushed by, guiding the girl out as a man Tony recognized as Denarian Dey stepped up and straightened the little girl’s dress for her.  “It’s an instrument of some kind.  Not exactly sure how it works.”

“Want me to introduce her?” Tony asked.

“If you would.” Pepper nodded.  “After the informational segment.”

Tossing the water bottle up, Tony didn’t look to see if Happy caught it before he made his way over to where Denarian Dey was fussing over the plaits of his daughter’s hair. Tony shook his hand in greeting and then crouched, smile bright, to introduce himself to the bright looking young girl as she clutched the brass rod in her little hands.

* * *

 

“What do you think you’ll find from watching the local news?” Natasha asked, elbows resting on the back of the couch where Bucky and Clint sat, practically glaring at the anchor as she discussed some story about a shooting that took place at the Museum of Modern Art.

“He thought they’d be covering the Expo.” Clint grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.  “I keep trying to tell him we’d be better off on the internet.”

“It’s local and it’s news,” Bucky argued.  “You’d think they’d talk about it.”

Natasha snorted, vaulting over the couch to settle on Bucky’s right and snatching the remote from him.  “If you wanted to watch so bad, you should’ve just gone.”

Bucky made a vague grunt in protest as the remote was stolen, but made no effort to take it back. "Somehow, I don't think that would help. They're trying to get good press."

"But you’re the textbook definition for the comeback kid," Clint gesticulated lazily. "A war hero. You'd have people all over you."

Natasha raised a brow. 

Clint pressed his mouth thin. "Which...you probably wouldn't enjoy too much."

Rolling her eyes, Natasha pressed a few buttons, switching the TV over to a webpage. There was an advertisement and then a moment of buffering, and then a shaky video took its place on the screen. There was laughter and cheers so loud that the speakers went out for a moment and then settled as the camera focused on the stage where a small girl, her skin completely pink, chimed away on an odd looking device. 

Every time she struck it, light and gentle chiming sounded. She played a gentle tune and the crowd cheered her on despite the slow, unfamiliar sounds. 

"Remind me again why this isn't on the news?" Bucky asked, eyes fixed on the screen, infatuated.

"The second something blows up, it will be." Clint grunted. 

" _If_ something blows up." Bucky said. "Aliens seem friendly."

"When," Clint deadpanned. "It's _Tony_."

"I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Yeah, he'll be fine, but that doesn’t mean he's not gonna blow something up. That's, like, his _favorite_ thing." Clint argued. 

Bucky shot Clint a glance. "Do you actually want this to fail or are you just devoid of positivity?"

Clint shrugged. "It's much less a failure thing and more of an inevitability."

The retort Bucky had lined up died on his lips when the image projected on the screen flickered. His gaze was drawn back to the screen when thousands of people had scattered from the front of the stage, a great smoking crater left in the ground. There were screams. They managed to catch a glimpse of a figure rising from the smoke before the footage grew too shaky to properly view, eventually fading to static. 

Something cold ran down Bucky's spine, and he was on his feet before he knew it, heart pounding in his chest. 

The screen seemed to flicker, sound cutting in and out, and the figure rose from the soot and debris slow and sinuous-- like a snake poising to strike. Then there was a flare of light--gold, or perhaps amber-- and then there was nothing. 

"FRIDAY?" Natasha was on her feet at Bucky's side. 

"My apologies, Ms. Romanoff," FRIDAY'S voice seemed to waver. "I have my hands a bit full right now."

Natasha hissed out a cursed in Russian. "We gotta get down there. _Now_."

Clint was already swinging over the back of the couch and vaulting down the stairs. He had his hand to his ear, muttering some kind of order to whoever was on the other end. 

"Are you coming?" Natasha asked, turning away from the screen where it froze, buffering endlessly for a moment-- Bucky was still staring at it. " _Barnes_. Are you coming?"

There was a long pause before Bucky spoke, words stalling in his throat. "Go. Go, I'll catch you in the garage."

Natasha hesitated, just long enough to grab his arm, grip firm and reassuring. "If you need it, he's made you armor."

"Nat, let's go!" Clint called, hand keeping the elevator door from sliding shut. 

Mouth twitching, Natasha squeezed at Bucky's arm and then pulled away. She jogged down the stairs and didn't look back.

A shudder ran down his spine, and for a moment the desire to run and hide and never be found again crept back up on him, quashed only by the steady pressure Natasha squeezed into his arm. He watched her go, still for only a moment longer, before he took off across the other side of the common room.  

* * *

 

Tony's lab held none of its usual comfort as Bucky made his way down, glass doors opening without resistance. The Orion suit hung lifeless on its rigging, eerie in the half light as Bucky passed. He'd seen the cabinets that Tony kept the team’s projects in many times before, but had yet to venture toward them. At the end of the row, an addition tacked on, was a locker with his own name on it.

Bucky flexed his fingers to dispel the shake in them, and blew out a breath as he opened the locker. Inside hung a suit, not unlike Steve's in substance, but sleeker, smoother, fabric tinted a dark navy that was very nearly black. Bucky eyed it for a moment before he pulled it from the locker, trepidation gathering in his gut.

"Mr. Barnes," FRIDAY's voice chimed softly overhead. 

"FRIDAY?"

"Forgive me for interrupting," she sounded almost harried.  "But Mr. Stark has a favor to ask of you." 

"What kind of favor?" Bucky asked, pulling on a pair of gloves. 

FRIDAY didn't verbally reply. Instead, something hissed open next to the lockers, sliding out slow and lit only by the blue light within. 

Carefully lined up, balanced on the rack with obvious care, were three separate but equally deadly looking rifles. 

"The grips are specifically designed to work with your hands alone." FRIDAY said. "You'll find a number of other specially crafted weapons in the bottom drawer of your compartment, but Mr. Stark fears we may need something a bit more heavy hitting at this particular juncture."

"How is this a favor?" Bucky asked, hesitating just slightly before he reached out towards the rack, lifting the center rifle from its place. 

"Mr. Stark was unsure how you would feel taking up such arms given your history." FRIDAY replied. "Forgive me. I must focus on the battle at hand. Thank you, Mr. Barnes."

FRIDAY fell silent before Bucky could even thank her, her absence echoing in the lab. He let his fingers trail over the cold metal, catching briefly on the raised rear sight. Beside them, in a lower tray sat a selection of knives; some smaller, designed for throwing. The one on the end caught his eye, double edged, and wickedly sharp. There were four magazines slotted into the paneling of the rack, and when he picked them up, Bucky found they fit perfectly into the armor Tony had made him. 

In an ideal world, he'd have time to sight the rifle in, to learn which way it pulled, and how it functioned as if it were an extension of himself. Thanos, it seemed, had other ideas. With no further hesitation, Bucky slung the rifle’s strap over his shoulder and made his way out of the lab.

* * *

 

First, there was a ringing.  It started in the ears, then fizzled out until it was a low hum that seemed to reverberate at the back of his mouth between his molars. He grit his teeth tight, eyes squeezing shut, and in the dust he could make out a hulking figure.

It took him longer than he would’ve liked to recognize it as Happy, curling himself carefully over Pepper where she lay, hair a halo of red around her head.  Tony fumbled, half getting to his feet before his knee buckled and he hit the wood of the stage again.  Shaking his head, he blinked past the rush of vertigo—world tilting briefly on its axis—before he tried again.  He shoved to his feet, stumbling, and peered out to center stage where Cal—Denarian Dey’s daughter—was scooped up carefully by her father and carried across to the other wing of the stage for cover.

There were screams, he realized.  As he staggered forward, bracing a hand against a marble pillar, he peered out into the scattering audience and saw just what all the commotion was with a stuttering heart.  When he caught sight of a feminine figure at the center reeling one of the security guards in with what looked like a whip made of light, he felt something disgustingly like relief settle in his chest. 

At least she wasn’t a towering, purple titan. 

“Hey!” he barked as he stepped out onto the stage, already waving his hands overhead despite the call he heard from somewhere behind him—probably Happy—and he shouted for her attention again. “Hey, Wonder Woman, over here!”

If it had been any other situation, he might’ve taken the time to appreciate the figure she cut: cloaked in green and gold armor, long legs wrapped in whatever the Asgardian equivalent of leather was, hair a mess of blonde curls, and a smile that could kill.  As it was, he was a little busy dodging the spark of magic she sent reeling his way.

It splintered the wood under his feet.  He barely rolled to the side in time, bruising his shoulder on the way, as the amber light ricocheted back and struck a hundred-year-old statue of Beethoven.  The metal was left warped and melted when the light cleared; Tony winced, knowing his foundation was probably going to have to cover a priceless piece of art along with whatever property damage they were about to inflict.

She released the guard in order to turn her focus more fully on Tony, eyes narrowing as he pushed back to his feet.  Behind her, the audience was still scattering but had gotten far enough away that Tony felt something ease in his stomach. 

He touched a hand to his wrist, silently activating a sensor that was still imbedded into the skin just over his pounding pulse.  He felt a flare of heat under his fingertips.

Her eyes tracked his movement as he carefully straightened back up, hands up in the universal sign of surrender.  Tony affected a small limp that wasn’t quite fake, plastering on a broad smile as he wobbled from foot to foot.

“Hi, there.” He greeted and her chin tipped up, something slow curling her mouth into a sinful look; like she had just sized him up in a single moment.  “I’m Tony.  And you are?”

“Mortal,” she spat with disdain.  “You think I care what your name is?”

“You might.” Tony’s face shrugged.  “In a couple of minutes, anyway.”

“I care not,” she shook her head, a familiar look of frigid disinterest coloring her expression.  “Not for you or any other being on this plane.  Soon, you’ll all be dust.”

Tony had seen that look on Loki’s face between the bouts of righteous fury back when he’d first attacked. 

“Fascinating,” Tony said.  “Really.  But you’re wrong.”

Her lip curled up into a sneer.  “Am I?  And what gives you the authority to make such a claim?”

“Well, for one, the last time a demigod with delusions of grandeur rocked up to earth with plans of domination, we kicked his ass.” Tony’s grin spread into one of those sharp, shark smiles.  “And two?  Check your six.”

Her brows drew in tight.  Before she could ask, or look, the edge of Steve’s shield slammed into her back with such force that it knocked her forward and down. 

She hit the pavement with a thud, the shield rebounding back at an angle.  Only a few paces behind her, Steve reached up and caught it, sliding the shield into place against his back.

Tony hopped off the stage in a smooth movement, darting over to kick the hilt of the baton out of reach.  The light in it dimmed, whip diminishing with a wisp as it rolled further away from her.  All around, people still lingering close enough to see erupted into cheers.

“Nice move, Captain Kick Ass.” Tony grunted.

Steve huffed out a tight breath.  “Everyone okay?”

“I’ve got a guard that’s a bit singed around the edges,” Tony gestured to where the man lay, then pulled an earbud out of his pant pocket.  “FRIDAY, EMTs to my position. I’ve got a couple bruised pedestrians.”

“ _On their way, boss_.” FRIDAY’s voice chimed in his ear.  “ _There’s a situation down by the Terrace.  Thor has it under control for now, but backup would not go amiss.”_

“Cap, head down to the fountain.  Thor’s gonna need some cover in red, white, _and_ blue.” Tony told him.  “I’ve got a suit on the way—“

A hand wrapped around his ankle, jerking his feet right out from under him.  He hit the pavement with a harsh _thud_ , breath rushing out of his chest.

His back scraped against the rubble as the woman, fingers like claws around his calf, dragged him closer with a hiss.  Eyes wide, Tony fumbled at his wrist for the collapsible gauntlet as she curled up to loom over him with a sinuous roll.  Next to them, Steve moved to haul her off, but her free hand shot out and her fingers contorted in the air—a deep pulse sending Steve flying back to hit the base of one of the large spruces that lined the performance area. 

A new wave of screams erupted.  Somewhere, there were sirens. 

“Direct order, clear the park.” Tony barked.

“ _Sending out directive, boss_.”

He peeled the gauntlet down over his hand as she reared back, amber light dancing around her fingertips, and he sent off a shock of energy that knocked her back and off of him.  She let out a screech of sound, tumbling over and back a few paces. 

It gave Tony just enough room to clamber to his feet and scramble away.  “Cap!  Get up, get moving!”

With a groan, Steve rolled to his side and then pushed up.  “Working on it.”

Tony didn’t pause to help him along.  He knew that there was a very angry, very powerful woman on their tail.

He heard the distinct sound of energy crackling and then of a whip cutting through the air to strike the ground.

Pressing a hand to his ear, he rounded a corner out of the Bandshell observatory, Steve close at his side.  “FRI, tell me someone down there is wearing a comm unit.”

“ _Someone down where_?”

“Barton, you beautiful bastard.” Tony barked out a laugh. “Get your ass down to the Bethesda Terrace.  There’s trouble there and we’re bringing more.”

“ _Done and done._ ”

“You in the mood for a bit of cat and mouse, Cap?”

Steve breathed heavily for a moment, wincing as his ribs protested. He shook his head to clear it, willing the grogginess away. "Ready when you are."

"You lead, I'll follow." Tony said.  "Keep her away from people and lead her down under the Terrace. If she gets distracted, I'll bring up the tail to keep her focused."

"Be careful." Steve told him, not waiting for Tony's response, taking off at a full run. He only broke his stride to turn abruptly, throwing his shield towards the Asguardian, pausing for mere seconds to catch it against as he bounced back, boots scraping over the concrete as he took off again.

Tony wasn't as fast as Steve, but he stuck close, darting after him and ducking as a lash of light zipped by. It sizzled and crackled, the air humming with an electric heat.

He spat out a curse as one of her spells struck a nearby tree, hollowing out one of the sides of the trunk. It caved and buckled, groaning as it toppled over and crashed into his path. 

He knew that there were terrified people surrounding him. Knew that they were scattering. But he also knew that, without the suit, he didn't have much time to help in any way other than running and keeping the sorceress' attention on himself and Steve. 

" _What's the deal, Stark?"_ Clint's voice buzzed in his ear. 

"Coming in hot," he grunted as he vaulted over the old oak where it was smoking.

_"We've got a heavy weight putting Thor through the ringer."_

"Must be the lap dog." Tony huffed, chest aching a bit from the exertion. "I'm guessing the prom queen on our tail is Amora and you've got Skurge."

"Watch your six!" 

Tony barely dodged in time, rolling just as a flare of heat turned the cobblestones of the road red and yellow and burning in its wake. "Always got my back, dontcha, Stevie?"

"One of us has to." Steve shot back, shepherding people out of their path lest they fall to Amora's wrath.

A great shudder ran through the earth, rippling the pavement in front of them. Steve ducked his head, half expecting Amora to have unleashed another flash of magic, caught off guard when a great arc of lightening lanced down to meet the earth.

Thor stood several feet ahead of them, hammer raised over head, the flash of lightening and accompanying thunder clap sending a brute of a man flying across the park. 

"Amora!" His voice rumbled, a low roar of its own, and he held out his hammer like a warning. "You will stop this, now!"

"Thor, darling, it's always _such_ a pleasure to see you." She brandished her whip, eyes narrowing even as a wicked smile curved her mouth.  "Are these friends of yours?"

While her left hand sizzled with that amber light, she cracked the whip down in an arc, aiming for Tony and Steve.  Tony only managed to escape with the fringes of his suit jacket singed thanks to Steve’s firm hand at his elbow dragging him out of the way. 

Her lip curled up into a sneer. She extended her arm, fingers contorting, and then gave a little twist of her wrist. The energy--the _magic_ \-- flew right toward them. 

Ducking as Steve put his arm up over his head to tug him down, Tony crowded close under the safety of the shield. His teeth grit tight and he tapped impatiently at the screen on his wrist as Steve grunted and bore the weight of the attack. 

" _Big guy is coming back,"_ Natasha's voice rang clear over the comms. _"I repeat: big guy is coming back."_

"Thor!" Tony shouted out his warning, only just drawing his attention from the enchantress and over to the bulldozer of a man barreling toward him. 

Thor had his hammer half lifted, ready for an upswing, when a blur of silver armor and dark hair cut Skurge off before he could meet his destination. The man, giant as he was, went tumbling back and over the edge of the upper Terrance-- breaking the railing on his way down to the ground below.

Just before the break, Sif rolled to her feet, shield clutched close as she cast a look over at Thor. He almost seemed sheepish under her appraisal.

"Under her spell, already?" Sif asked, twirling a staff out of what seemed to be thin air. "Careful, Thor. You remember what happened last time you let that pretty face distract you."

The tips of Thor's ears went red. "I wasn't distracted."

Sif hummed. "Yet."

There was a loud roar, akin to one the Hulk might make, from down below. 

" _Help would be good!"_ They heard Clint grunt, and a splash followed. 

" _Help would be great!"_ Sam echoed the sentiment, and they blinked up as they saw him take to the air in a harried manner, as if he were afraid he might get caught by something--or someone. 

There was an electric whir. Next to Steve, Tony beamed and stood. 

"Right on schedule."

Behind him, Amora arched her arm back and above her head.  Steve called out, moving to grab for Tony again, but Tony was reaching forward. 

The first plates to hit him caught him by the right arm so harshly that it whipped him in a sharp one-eighty, hand still extended and now wrapped carefully in red and gold.  He caught the whip right as it landed, lassoing around his wrist, but he just grinned and curled his fingers around the thick chord of light.  Yanking, he took some pleasure in the way Amora stumbled forward, catching the second arrival of plates as smoothly as the first and opening his palm toward her. 

"I'm afraid we didn't get to finish introductions," light flared from the port on his hand, blinding and brilliant, and hit her square in the chest--sending her flying back until she was a heap of green silk and blonde curls on the grass-- the rest of his armor colliding with him and wrapping him up as he tossed the whip aside and strode forward. "I'm Iron Man. And you are?"

She snarled up at him through a curtain of waves. "You _wretch_ \--"

"Impolite, apparently." Tony noted, sending another beam at her as she tried to launch herself up at him. 

 _"I'll say."_ Natasha agreed, then let out a strained grunt. " _Feel free to back us up anytime, now. It’s gonna take a megaton to take this guy down and the majority are busy clearing the park.”_

"Thor, go take care of The Rock, down there. Cap and I got this."

With a twirl of his hammer, Thor took off. Tony canted his head over, gesturing toward where Amora was climbing to her feet. 

"Would you like to do the honors?"

"I don't suppose you've got somewhere to keep her?" Steve asked, moving with practiced ease to bring the edge of his shield down squarely over Amora's shoulder blades with enough force to bring her to the ground again. 

"Hulk Tank, maybe." Tony replied. 

"That might--" Steve was cut off by a great arc of magic, only just having time to raise his shield in time. The heat of it seared a strip of paint off the surface, and in the time it took him to recover, Amora had risen again.

The unibeam in Tony's chest was charging up, glowing brighter and dangerously brighter, when she released another spell that sent Tony flying back. He started the thrusters just in time to keep from colliding into one of the trees on the opposing side of the Mall's walkway, lurching and twisting to fly back toward where Steve had his shield raised against her fury. 

He dipped, thrusters flaring brighter, and caught her around the waist, yanking her off her feet and dragging her over toward the edge of the Terrace. Her fingers glowed, curling into the plates of his mask and chest piece, and even through the titanium alloy he could feel the heat pulsing in her hands as she tried to rend the metal armor away and get at the flesh underneath. 

"Going down?" He asked, releasing her as he zoomed over the railing where the Terrace ended and dropped down to the ground below where he could see Clint drawing an arrow back and taking aim. 

It glinted off her flank, but the electric current was enough to force her to release her hold on him and drop to the story below. She twisted sharply, meeting the ground in a graceful roll, and landing in a crouch as she whipped her head back in order to sneer up at where Tony stopped to hover. He steadied himself out with the hand thrusters and watched as she absently pointed a finger toward where Clint was already drawing another arrow, her focus intent on Tony. 

"Skurge," she shouted and, even as the massive beast of a man fended off Thor and Natasha's well timed attacks, he grunted in acknowledgment. "The archer."

He rolled his shoulders and grumbled, throwing off Natasha before she could land a blow with the Widow's Bite, and began running straight for where Clint was pivoting his attention to the hulking god headed his way. Tony raised a hand to fire a pulse in his path, but Amora quickly parried it with a spell that dragged him down and out of the air, his body hitting the pavement with a harsh _thunk_. The ground cracked under impact and Tony squeezed his eyes shut at the violent sentiment his head echoed inside his helmet. 

When he blinked past the sudden blur, he caught sight of Amora stalking toward him, that ethereal glow licking up from her hands, along her forearms, like fire. Like she might raze the very earth. 

It made his hair stand on end. 

Grunting, Tony pushed up to his feet; staggering back when she swiped her hand forward, like she intended to claw his heart out. Above them, Sam flew down in an arc, swiping by and heading for where Clint was making a hasty escape from Skurge. 

At the crumbling railing, Steve halted, hurling his shield out with such force it was a shock he didn't go flying with it. 

Amora whipped around, catching the shield in a halo of light, and she sent it skipping out over the lake like a pebble. "That trick only works once, _boy_."

"How about this trick?" 

Two brackets released over both his shoulders, vents dark and contrasting with the vibrant colors of the Mark XXII. There was no light in them, but a concussive swell pulsed from their depth and sent her spiraling back--knocking a number of his teammates off of their feet too. 

It didn't deter Skurge where he had followed Clint under the archway of the Terrace, and Tony made a one handed gesture. "Thor, Widow, go put steroid boy down."

"Already on it," Natasha grunted.

"Cap, you might need to go fishing--"

"I got it!" A shout came from overhead, a blur of red landing next to Steve on the Terrace ledge, shield clutched in hand. "Mr. America-- Captain-- sir."

Spiderman offered the shield out to him, arms fully extended, like a child showing a parent an art piece made of macaroni and way too much paste.

"Thanks." Steve said, taking his shield back before he gestured to the crowd of people still trying to clear the Terrace. "Get the civilians out of here. I don't want any casualties."

“You got it, Captain!”

Steve watched as the kid shot a web out and up toward one of the towering trees, slinging away in a blur of blue and red.  His focus fell to the mess below; the broken fountain and the crumbling foundation, the blood and the—thankfully, now distant—wails of fear and of pain. 

Mouth twisting, Steve vaulted down to land behind where Amora, crumbled as she was, was trying to drag herself back to her feet.  Taking the edge of his shield in hand, he paced closer, other hand moving to his belt where a complex set of collapsing cuffs Tony had developed not long after Loki’s first arrival hung.  He was crouching to place them on her, hoping to mute her abilities the same way they had with Enhanced before, when Tony called out to him.  Steve jerked a moment too late, hand ghosting through where her body should have been, and in the moment between his realization and the impacting rush of heat, he cursed his own stupidity.

He'd seen this trick before, but he fell right for it.

Tony was already moving, blasting forward to where Amora was now towering over Steve’s singed uniform.  He fired the repulsers at her, one after the other, but she cast a hand up and they dissipated before they could ever land a blow.

He met her head on, but on the moment of impact, there was a flare of electricity.  It crackled; it was like a wave—a current that crested and then doubled—and sent the both of them flying.

Tony landed far beyond the fountain, just in the shallows of the lake that stretched beyond the Terrace.  The reactor sputtered in his chest, flickering as he skidded away and slid to a halt on his back, huffing in short, sharp pants.  Eyes wide and darting around the inside of the dead helmet, Tony looked for any sign of light or energy even as the suit began to lock down.

There was panic then.  It started with a sharp tang in the back of Tony’s mouth and then a muffled ringing in his ears.

He tried to lift his hand, but the weight of the suit held him down even as the plates twitched and attempted to recalibrate, water gushing in between the cracks.

“FRIDAY?”

“ _Try—ing, sir_.” Her voice broke, light flickering.  “ _Re—ooting—“_

Out of his periphery, Tony could see Amora—a figure in viridian, glowing and dangerous and ethereal—stalking toward him, boots cutting through the water.  “Faster.  Reboot _faster_.”

“Trapped, little man?” Her voice lilted with that same accent that Thor and Loki had, though it was far more sinister.

She crouched; tapped her knuckles on the scuffed red plate of his chest.  Her lips pursed, head tilting, and she hooked her fingers under the plate, grunting as she threw him out another couple of yards in an impressive feat of Asgardian strength, pushing him out to the deeper parts of the lake and following after.

Already, he could feel the rush of water—cool and biting, worming its way into his suit as it faltered between powering back up and trying to collapse from around him to release him from the metal trap he was stuck in.  It welled into the arms and the legs first.  Then, as the weight dragged him down, it began to fill up the chest and pour in around his head.  He flailed, straining to try and trigger the release mechanisms, but by then it was too late.  Amora was there, wicked with intent, and baring down upon him as his chest constricted and he sucked in sharper, smaller breaths.

The water was already filling the face plate, already over his head, and it released just as he was fully submerged by her malignant, pressing hands.  He held his breath, water blinding him, but did not last long before his chest hitched under her weight—unforgiving now that his suit was sliding away, useless, piece by piece—and he could not help but suck in a lungful as he clawed at her arms.

He heard a buzzing in his ear, from the comm unit there, still glowing blue—“ _Hold on, Tony! Hold on!_ —but by then he was already fading.


	22. Chapter 21: Enjoy the Silence

As people fled the chaos of the park, a single figure moved in opposition to the tide of the crowd. The sound of carnage, and the smell of burnt metal and ozone grew sharper as Bucky made his way through the park, having left his bike several hundred feet behind him, lost to the gridlock of the roads. A flash of golden light drew Bucky's eye, forcing himself through the last few feet of packed crowd to take off at a run towards the source of the sound. 

He came to an abrupt halt, hidden behind the thick base of a tree, to watch the ongoing battle.  The race of his heart faded to little more than background noise, a practiced ease falling over him beyond the heavy pulse drumming at the back of his head. A figure clad in viridian raised her arm, and with it, a great arc of golden electricity fell to earth, only missing Steve by a hair’s breadth. 

A tension rippled over him, feet shifting against the earth, fighting the instinct to rush in-- holding still, holding steady, even as his body screamed with it. His eyes darted to the Terrace, crumbling, but still stable. Thor raised his hammer, and in the resulting flash of lightening, Bucky ran from behind the his vantage point, gaining height as he scaled the Terrace upward and bypassing the curved staircase. 

The stock of his rifle was a steady familiarity as he settled it against his shoulder, head cocked just so to watch down the scope once he found a stable point at the railing. Two red lines intersected over the enchantress' chest as she bent to lift Tony's unresponsive suit from the ground as if he were a rag doll. Something like fire burned through him, forcing air through his lungs as the barrel of his gun steadied as two shots rang clear through the cacophony of battle. 

Decades of practice didn't fail him.

Amora stumbled with the force of the shots, but did not fall, expression contorting with rage as she whirled around, dropping Tony's suit with a great metallic clutter and a _splash,_ blood a vivid marker against the leather of her clothes and the musty silver of her armor.  As quickly as he'd fired, Bucky had moved for what meager cover the Terrace offered, an arc of golden light descending down upon the Terrace roof, only feet from where he was.

The dust cleared, and below his feet, Bucky could feel the structure buckle, listing as its foundations crumbled. For a moment, he remained still, feeling the tilt of rubble under his feet, forcing him to jump before the platform fell away.  He hit the ground at a roll, a powerful shock running up his legs from the force of it. 

Shrieks echoed up from below as the Terrace crumbled inward.  For a moment, there was panic, and Bucky moved as if to head into the rubble, when a twist of bright green light gave him pause-- concrete pieces hovering and then shifting, but not in the same downward momentum.  Rather, they moved up and away, making way for the panicked bystanders to scamper out and away from the carnage; covered and dust and bustling through toward the far side of the park where the flash of emergency lights haloed behind the trees.  

Bucky twisted around, catching sight of Wanda standing there, fingers contorting in the air as she cleared the space-- though the wisps of green that clung to her fingers were off-putting.  She met his gaze and gestured with a sharp jerk of her head over to where Steve still lay, burnt around the edges and unconscious.  

"Get your soldier boy," her accent lilted just right but her expression was one of disdain.  "The others still need help bringing down Skurge."

Bucky lingered for a moment too long as he stared at Wanda, eyeing the green around her hands with suspicion. He didn't pause for long enough to question it, a deep sense of dread bubbling in his chest, pulling him away from Wanda and to where Steve lay. He dropped to shake at Steve's shoulder, trying to draw him out of unconsciousness with limited success, gaining a vague sound in response.

"C’mon, we gotta move." Bucky said, more to himself than to Steve, hefting him to his feet, one arm under Steve's shoulders as he started to come to. 

"Well, what do we have here?" Amora's voice slid out, sultry and dark, landing just before Wanda where her fists were curling up in green.  "A little witch.  How quaint." 

Wanda's mouth twisted into a dark smile.  "You should know better than to judge by appearances by now, Amora darling." 

Before the horror could truly settle over Amora's features, Wanda was striking out, binding her up in light while sending her headlong into the rubble. 

In Bucky's earpiece, Natasha's voice peaked.  " _Soldier, move your ass.  And someone get eyes on Stark!"_

"On it!" Sam cried from overhead, already swooping down over the lake and landing hip deep, arms pulling up something limp and heavy with a grunt.  " _Nonresponsive_." 

 _"Clint, get back to the fountain."_ Natasha demanded, somewhere beyond the broken Terrace and amidst a rumbling growl that could only be coming from Skurge.  " _Thor and I will cover the big guy._ " 

" _I'm starting compressions now,_ " Sam's voice crackled over the line, even as Clint grunted his agreement.

Bucky's progress away from the mess was slow, half dragging Steve from the worst of the violence, the air around them crackling with electricity as Wanda tried to contain Amora. The sight of a figure in black caught Bucky's eye, and he caught himself reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh before he recognized her. 

Gamora halted before him, features sharp in the light as she held out an arm, reaching in to take Steve's weight before Bucky could mount a protest. At the movement, Steve roused, eyes unfocused as he fought unconsciousness. Bucky hesitated for a moment, eyes skipping over her, a hand faltering at his side, half aborted attempt to take Steve back. 

"I will take him with the others. He will be safe." Gamora told him, no argument in her tone, sensing his hesitation. "Go. They need you.  _Go._ "

Bucky's expression flickered, torn for a split second before he turned toward the fallen Terrace, taking off at a run. In the rubble, a glint of red and blue caught his eye, reaching out to unseat Steve's shield from its place in the wreckage. 

It was always a bit of a shock; how light it was, how right it felt against his arm.  

He took off toward the roar of sound Skurge emitted-- just catching sight of Natasha clinging to his back like a spider monkey, plunging her bite against his neck and unloading a dangerous level of voltage into the Asgardian's body. The man was certainly a hulking figure and wasn't afraid to show it, muscles rippling as he reached over his head to try and pull Natasha off of him.  

Catching her by the scruff, he whipped her down and over his shoulders.  She grunted on impact, laying there dazed, and Skurge reeled back a hand to deliver an equally deadly blow. 

It never mad contact. 

Bucky moved quickly, quicker than he had in a long time, and he slid in the gravel of the debris in order to place himself between Natasha and her attacker.  Skurge's fist connected with the shield when he raised it and there was a backlash that send Skurge tumbling, the sound vibrating and resonating through the air. Bucky could feel the force of it rattling in his teeth. 

The jarring shudder in his body didn't slow Bucky for a second, moving on Skurge without a moment of hesitation as he tried to gain his footing again.  Bucky raised the shield over his head to bring it down over Skurge's shoulder with a sickening crunch, feeling flesh give under the metal edge. 

The resulting roar of pain was some comfort, and as Skurge bellowed, Bucky moved back to stand in front of Natasha as she regained her footing, shield half raised. 

He felt her hand on his shoulder before he heard her half shouted order to  _turn, goddamit_  and he twisted in time for Thor to bring his hammer down-- lightning like fire as it arced off of the shield and blew Skurge finally off of his feet. 

On his back, the man groaned out a sound, calling for Amora in a garbled shout as his blood puddled over the cobblestones.  But Thor was already upon him, setting the weight of his hammer at the center of Skurge's chest and letting it hold him there against the ground.  He spit out another string of creative curses, but Thor crouched and brought his fist down with a resounding  _crack,_ the bounce of Skurge's head against the concrete, fracturing it as his body went limp.

Standing, Thor turned, brow drawn heavy over his brows as he stalked by.  "Enchantress!  You have harmed my shield brethren enough!  This ends now--!" 

Just as his righteously furious speech was coming to a close, there was a  _whoosh_ of sound and then blur of green as Amora was tossed up and over the crumbled archway of the Terrace and at Thor's feet-- bound from head to toe, wrapped up in vines that would not stop winding tighter as she squirmed, a familiarly embossed mouthpiece and pair of shackles placed upon her as she turned big eyes on Thor.  At the edge, Wanda pushed herself up and over the edge with a crackle of green energy, eyes flaring as she lifted a brow at the shocked look on both Thor and Natasha's faces.  

"What?" her voice lilted like it should've, but there was something unfamiliar in the way that she moved; a fluidity she did not have of her own that Thor immediately recognized.  "Surprised?" 

"Do not make a menace of yourself, brother." Thor warned lowly over Amora's muffled pleas. 

"I'm only here to lend a hand, Odinson, don't get your cape in a twist." It was odd, seeing Loki's derision on Wanda's features.  "Speaking of, don't you have certain teammates to attend to?" 

Natasha was already shoving by Bucky, pace quick and then quicker as she ran down what remained of the stairs of the Terrace, hand pressed to her ear.  "What's his status?" 

" _Falcon is still performing compressions_ ," Clint's voice came; he sounded strained.  

Bucky spared a brief moment to glance between Thor's hammer and the shield, miraculously undamaged, even as his body crackled with electricity. He moved as Natasha shoved at him, knowing Thor, at least, had a handle on the situation. The adrenaline coursing through his body only worsened the throb of fear that rang through him when he heard Barton's update, following Natasha through back towards the base of the Terrace, where Tony had been pulled from the lake.

He didn't look like much, laying there soaked without his armor on, suit soaked through.  His hair was a dark mop, plastered to his head and dripping, body jerking under the force of Sam's hands pressing down in timed thrusts on his chest.  He looked so pale.  

Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen him that pale.  Not even in the snow, in the cold, with the blood on his face as such a drastic contrast. 

By the time they made it down to the bank of the lake, where the fountain was still sputtering, Tony was seizing up-- Clint rushing to cup the back of his head so that he didn't hit it on the pavement as he coughed up what seemed like a good half of the lake, retching and gagging as Sam sat back with an exhausted little huff.  Natasha went to her knees, pushing Tony's hair back from his face and taking his jaw in her free hand, eyes darting over his face as he let out a wretched little sound and tried to shove them away. 

"Easy, Tony-- Easy!" Natasha's lips pursed, brow pinching as he blindly pushed at her-- his eyes wide, more fear there than Bucky had ever seen in him, as he tried to pull away.  "It's just us!  You're okay.  You're at Central Park." 

His breath stuttered and he hacked up another painful cough, trembling as the tight lines of his body and the flailing limbs finally went easy.  Clint kept his hand curved over the back of Tony's head as he relaxed back, chest heaving, and he pat his chest with the other.  

"You with us, Tinman?" Clint asked.

Tony's jaw clenched, but he offered a short aborted jerk of a nod. 

Bucky kept half an eye on Thor and his brother as Tony spluttered, unwilling to leave them totally alone with Skurge and Amora, lest they be over powered while Bucky had his back turned.  He kept the shield half raised, light enough to move at a moment’s notice should he need to use it again. 

"We should get out of the open." Bucky said, glancing back to Tony, a furrow between his brows. "Get you some place safe."

"They taken care of?" Tony rasped. 

"Yes," Natasha's mouth twitched, something like fond exasperation coloring her face.  "The threat is neutralized." 

"Love it when you talk spy to me," Tony mumbled, head going heavy against Clint's palm.  

Natasha glanced up over her shoulder.  "Can you get him back to the Tower while we finish here?" 

Sam grunted from his spot on the ground.  "I'll go with," he said as he pushed himself up.  "Help get Cap back too; then head back for clean-up." 

They shared a brief nod before Clint and Natasha were moving away, back toward where Thor was keeping vigil over their galactic prisoners.  Bucky bent to where Tony was, offering him a hand to help him to his feet. Tony rose on shaky legs, and from the moment it looked like his knees were about to give, Bucky had an arm curled up under them, lifting Tony off his feet to spare him the effort.

"Frightened the hell outta me, you know that, Stark?"

"Worried about little old me?" Tony grinned, voice rough, not even protesting-- though he did blink when he caught sight of the familiar shield hanging off of Bucky's arm and the dark press of his armor.  "Nice look.  Where'd you get the digs?  New sugar daddy?" 

Bucky rolled his eyes, and behind him, he could hear Sam snicker. "Y'know, I can drop you."

"You'd drop an old man in his time of need? Without his  _Life Alert_  button?" 

"You bet your perky ass I would." Bucky grunted, lips twitching in amusement. 

"Oh-- Oh, dear, I-- I feel so dizzy, Sergeant Barnes." Tony let his head tip back, resting his wrist to his forehead, practically swooning; or pretending to at the very least.  "Surely you wouldn't abandon me here in such a state." 

"Can it, Stark." Bucky said, terse but not without amusement.

If Tony happened to feel the subtle tightening in Bucky's grip, fingers flexing under his legs, he didn't mention it. 

"Yeah, alright." Tony sobered some, hand moving to Bucky's shoulder, where he knew metal met flesh underneath all that heavy artillery Kevlar. "Where's Cap? He okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he'll be okay." Bucky said, ignoring the curl of worry in his gut. "He got knocked out by a blast. Gamora took him."

"Nice of her," Tony mumbled, something in his expression pinching.  "I can get Happy to pull the car around, once everything's clear.  So you can get Cap outta here.  You took the bike?" 

"Are you kidding? I'm not leaving you here." Bucky said gruffly, as if insulted by the idea. "Steve's probably up and walking already. He can sort it out with the Guardians, I'll come back for him."

That tight wrinkle between his brows eased. "Well, if you insist."

"You and me are going straight to medical, because I'm not helping you yak up the rest of that lake." Bucky added. 

"You're fucking hilarious." Tony snorted, then winced around another cough that he tried to swallow down.  "Not-- Not happening." 

"You gonna stop me?" Bucky asked, raising a brow at him. "I've had enough of idiots with shitty lungs for a couple lifetimes."

"I'll throw a fit," Tony insisted.  "I'll stop making you cool gadgets.  I'll revoke your lab access."  

"You do that." Bucky said. "We're still going to medical."

"Wilson!" Tony strained to peer over Bucky's shoulder.  "Help me out here!" 

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm with Barnes on this one."

With a huff, Tony slumped in Bucky's hold.  "Fine.  I'll compromise.  Take me to the good doctor.  He'll look me over." 

Bucky hummed out a sound; contemplative. "Alright, deal. At least I know he'll keep an eye on you."

Sam cleared his throat from somewhere behind him.  "What doctor are we talking about here?" 

Bucky paused for a moment, and cast a glance at Tony, looking for permission. "Tony's got a, uh-- friend, back at the Tower."

"You know him, actually." Tony piped up.  "He's got a bit of temper-- turns big and green." 

"Since when was Banner in the Tower?" Sam asked.

"Since the courtroom incident." Bucky told him.

" _What_?"

"Easy, feathers." Tony chided, blinking slow and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "He wanted to keep it on the down low. But he's hidden long enough; he knows that."

"Well, at least he knows." Sam said flatly. 

"It'll be right." Bucky said, glancing back at Sam. "He'll just have to front up when we get back."

"If there's anything I know for certain, Brucie bear is great at standing tall when the going gets going. Or, at least, the other guy is."

* * *

 

"This would go a lot faster if you'd stop squirming," Bruce chided, expression dry even as Tony wrinkled his nose and tried to wiggle away from the cool press of the stethoscope against his back where his shirt was rucked up. 

Across the common lab that overlooked the lounge, Bucky sat forward in a chair with Steve's shield balanced against his right shin, elbows resting on his knees.  He watched as Bruce ran Tony through the preliminary exams, trying not to grin the entire time as Tony made faces, even as Bruce insisted on checking his lungs again.  

Tony'd changed at least; he wasn't dripping wet anymore, at his rather adamant insistence that he be allowed to change out of his sopping suit.  He had some color back too, which was a relief, and he'd nearly looked put together enough that when FRIDAY announced Steve had arrived back, Bucky nearly dragged himself away from Bruce's carefully examination of Tony.  He would've if it hadn't been for the way Tony tried and failed to hide the pinched look-- guilt, Bucky readily recognized-- that furrowed Tony's brow upon mention of the good Captain. 

Instead, he'd stayed steady and had offered Tony a tight lipped smile and let Sam run off to get him as Tony grumbled and groused his way through the thorough inspection.  He was tapping on a holoscreen the whole time, pulling up reports of the event-- already trying to figure out what he'd need to do for damage control and what he might need to do in order to fix it. 

Only, instead of finding their names dragged through the muck and mud, Tony found clip after clip and photo after photo of heroes of earth and not helping escort people from the park.  There was one of Lady Sif guiding a group of teen boys, staff extended and head held high.  Then the one of Falcon bodily carrying a paparazzi rat who'd tried to get closer to the action in order to take pictures back over toward the safety of the barricade that officials had set up once Tony had established FRIDAY's directive. Perhaps Tony's favorite was one of Harley, standing between Rocket and Groot and helping a small girl who was tearfully looking up at the three of them, knees scuffed and bloody, as Groot extended a delicate flower toward her. 

Though, the ones the press were having a field day with were the clips and images from the fight on the Terrace.  One of the headlines even read  _Captain America and Iron Man: Together Again?_ as a blurry image looped of Steve pulling Tony under his shield.  There were a number of Clint, Sam and Natasha taking on Skurge-- or trying to divert him-- while Thor rallied to put a stop to the man's rampage.  Countless images of Tony in the Iron Man suit; a single blur of a shot of Spiderman zipping in and out of the chaos.

Then finally, the one that made Tony falter and blink, was the four minute video of Bucky using the Captain's shield with deft precision and unrelenting skill.  It reminded him, briefly and terrifyingly, of the sleek trade-off between Steve and Bucky in that bunker at Siberia.  

Hissing, Tony arched as Bruce tried to place the cool metal against his skin.  "Come on, Brucie.  Where's your bedside manner?  Warm it up for me first." 

Bruce rolled his eyes hard. 

"How d’you even put up with him, doc?" Bucky asked, watching with idle interest as Banner plied a stethoscope against Tony's back. "You gotta have the patience of a Saint, or sumthin’."

"Like you're any better, " Tony grumbled. 

"How would you know? I don't get beat up like you do." Bucky retorted. 

"Gut feeling."

"I'm a fine patient; ask Rogers." Bucky huffed. 

Tony grinned. "Oh, you guys play doctor a lot?"

Bruce faltered mid note, pencil breaking against the clip board he was clutching. 

Bucky fell silent for a second. "I walked right into that, didn't I."

"Unfortunately," Bruce mumbled, mouth twitching. 

"Y’know you shouldn't make fun of senior citizens." Bucky said flatly. 

Tony wheezed out a laugh.  He winced as it quickly turned into a cough, entire body jerking as he choked and hacked.  

Bruce was at his side in an instant, hand at his back, rubbing in slow circles.  Tony trembled as his stomach contracted sharply, trying to force him to gag up more water, even though he didn't think he had any left in him.  

Bucky's brows furrowed in, a quiet flicker of guilt washing over his expression. He glanced at Banner, concern in his tone. "Is it normal to cough up water after this long?"

"There isn't any water left for him to cough up.  His lungs sound perfectly clear."

"Then what's all this?"

Before Bruce could answer, the elevator doors were sliding open. Thor stepped in, Wanda trailing at his side, smile far too broad to be her own. 

Tony's coughing subsided as he squinted up at them, little heaves still wracking him for a few seconds after. Thor frowned. 

"Are you well, Tony?"

"Be better if your brother stopped wearing Wanda like a meat suit." Tony grunted. 

"None of you have any sense of humor," Loki huffed, glamour melting away as he dusted himself off. 

At Tony's side, Bruce bristled. "Dressing up like one of our team members and prancing around pretending to save the day some kind of joke to you?"

"Not an incredibly funny one," Loki shrugged a shoulder. "But yes."

Bucky bristled the second he saw Loki, equal parts confused as he was angry when the god’s glamour wore away. He shifted in his seat, making no move to rise just yet, although his fingers shifted toward the shield rested against his leg.

"Somehow, I get the feeling everything's a joke to you."

"You wouldn't be far off of the mark, Sergeant." Loki grinned, all sharp teeth, and then his gaze flit to Tony.

He had paled again, usually gold skin washing out as his body gave these little imperceptible heaves.  Loki pursed his lips, boots clipping slow against the glass floor as he moved closer despite the way Bruce's shoulders drew up practically to his ears. 

"Though, I think I did enjoy playing hero to the drowning damsel."  Loki practically purred.  "Even if it was somewhat satisfying to sit back and watch you all struggle." 

Tony's expression darkened, and he jerked back slightly when Loki reached out to take his chin in hand.  Thor called out to him, but Loki ignored his warning.

"And you certainly did struggle, didn't you, Anthony?  I don't think I've ever seen you so shaken. Did it make you realize how mortal you are?" Loki's smile was a wicked thing; delighted as Tony's breath began to grow shorter and shorter, his pupils contracting down to pinpoints of black in the deep well of his iris.  "Were you frightened?  As the water seeped in?  I saw as you fought it so hard, yet you could do nothing to contain it-- to put a stop to such an immense force.  I wonder what you saw in the moment before it swallowed you whole." 

"You're gonna wanna get your hands off of him," Bruce's voice came out in a low growl, and all of the occupants of the room went very still and very quiet.  " _Now_." 

Bucky had risen to his feet by that point, drawing in closer to where Tony sat on the workbench, but made no move to get between Banner and Loki. He knew enough about Banner to know that his tone didn't bode well, and the last thing Bucky wanted was to be in the firing line of things got green and ugly. 

Loki tensed, breath faltering, and Tony winced as the rigid lines of Loki's fingers dug into his jaw. 

Next to them, Bruce stumbled back, choking out a pained grunt of a sound, shoulders rolling. There was a sickening crack of distortion, muscles twitching and expanding before contracting again under the cotton of his shirt. 

"Brother," Thor held out a hand, voice low. "Come away now. Come away."

Loki jerked back and then froze again at the rumbling growl Bruce emitted, his back to the rest of them. Carefully, he stepped back once. Then twice. His movements agonizing in the glacial nature of their pace as Bruce began to bodily pant. 

Once at his side, Thor took Loki by the wrist, his grip tight. Loki didn't even flinch. 

"Take us from here so that Dr. Banner might regain control of himself."

Without a word, Loki magicked them both away, leaving Tony and Bucky with Bruce mid-Hulk in the lab. Tony's gaze darted to Bucky, and he gave the smallest shake off his head as Bucky moved to raise the shield. 

"Hey, big guy. Thanks for worrying, but I'm all good now."

Panic rose in Bucky's throat, and upon Tony's gesture, he lowered the shield, moving slowly to come around the Hulk's flank, each step well calculated to avoid causing alarm. Unconsciously, his fingers twitched towards the knife at his belt, thumb flicking at the button keeping it in its sheath. 

Tony saw it too late, made a sound of protest even later, but by then Bruce was swinging a disproportionately large arm out. It caught Bucky in the gut, sending him flying and colliding with the far wall as Tony sprang to his feet and Bruce tried to bite down a roar. 

Hands out, Tony's throat worked, eyes wide. "Hey, whoa, hey. Easy there, Brucie. If you're gonna go all Hulk I'm gonna need you to come downstairs with me, babe."

Bruce snorted, covering his face with his hands. 

Bucky's vision flickered, a dull ache resonating from his mid-section, and a sharp crack from the back of his head where it had collided with the wall.  He rose unsteadily to his feet again, shaking his head to clear it. With telegraphed motions, Bucky dropped the shield, almost entirely disarmed as he took a step forward again, unwilling to leave Tony alone with Bruce in such a state.

Green eyes watched him, searching him for any other visible weapon, mouth curling into a sneer. Tony stepped between them though and gestured to the elevator. 

"You gonna go down with me or not, Brucie?"

With a rough grunt, Bruce trudged for the opening doors and slumped against one of the walls within it. Tony moved to follow but stopped when Bucky grabbed his arm. 

"Are you sure you wanna do that?" Bucky asked, tone low as he leant in. "There's no exit in an elevator. You're gonna be stuck with him."

"He won't hurt me," Tony insisted, firm, though to convince himself or Bucky wasn't clear. "He's getting worked up because he was worried about me. He won't hurt me."

Bucky hesitated for a moment before he released Tony's arm. "I'll meet you down in the cells, then."

"Probably wise," Tony offered him a wan smile and then stepped into the lift, not looking back as the doors slid shut. 

Bucky's brows furrowed in, and he curled an arm around his stomach to try and soothe the ache there. He'd have a set of bruise to explain to Steve later. 

Something foul coiled in him at the recollection of Loki's hands on Tony's jaw, a quiet kind of anger embedding itself in Bucky's gut right next to the sharp pang of pain, as the pieces fell together. He retrieved the shield as he passed, rougher than he needed to be as he left the lab. 

He made quick time to the common area, expression set as he crossed the room, a frightening determination fueling him as he laid eyes on Loki, stood calmly next to his brother, as if he hadn't just upended the small amount of peace they'd found after the battle. 

"Ah, Sergeant Barnes," Loki peered up at him with that sharp smile of his as Thor's worried words to Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Steve were cut abruptly short.  "I take it the beast didn't make a full appearance--?" 

Before he could finish, Loki was lifted off his feet, metal fingers curling tight around his throat as he was pushed bodily towards the wall. The bladed tip of a knife pressed just under the god’s sternum, angled to drive under his ribs with only a moment’s worth of force. 

"I don't know what kind of long game you think you're playing here, but you're going to cut it out now, is that understood?"

Instantly, the room was on their feet, Steve calling out to Bucky just as Thor was calling out to Loki.  Bucky could feel Loki's throat work against his palm, against the metal plates, and his eyes narrowed when Loki raised his hands-- the air of innocence.  

"There is-- There is no game here, Sergeant Barnes." Loki rasped, chin tilting up.  

"I know your type. There's always something else with people like you." Bucky hissed, voice foreign even to his own ears.

The point of Bucky’s knife left a neat hole in the front of the leather of Loki's armor, and beneath it blood began to well red over the god’s skin.  Loki winced.

"We won't be having this conversation again. Next time you try that shit, you won't have a silver tongue left to talk your way out of it."

"Buck," Steve placed a hand on his shoulder, tentative and soft.  

Bucky remained still for a moment longer, gaze locked with Loki's before he pulled away, fingers loosening enough for the god to drop back to the floor. He turned without further word, knife disappearing back into its sheath as he shook Steve's hand off his shoulder. 

"Buck, hey--" Steve frowned, moving to follow after him as Loki rubbed a hand over his throat and bat away his brother's concern.  "Hey, what happened?" 

"Banner's gone green, and Tony's still hacking up half the lake." Bucky told him, mechanical in tone.  "And  _he's_  messing with things he shouldn't be messing with."

Steve's shoulders drew tight and any residual fatigue from his fight with Amora seemed to dissipate.  "Banner?" 

"Bruce is here," Natasha piped in, gaze flicking furtively over to where Loki was hovering, her own posture shifting.  "Has been.  For a month or two.  Since the trials at least." 

Steve's jaw flexed.  "And none of you told the rest of us--?" 

"Where, specifically, is Tony right now?" Clint cut him off with some amount of wariness.

"He's in the Hulk Tank." Bucky told him. "Someone had to get Banner down there."

"As in  _in_  the Hulk Tank?" Natasha frowned. 

Sam shifted from foot to foot.  "He wouldn't--" 

"He  _would_ ," Clint pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I think he knows what he's doing." Bucky said, already moving towards the elevator. "But someone's gotta keep an eye on him."

Natasha turned to Steve.  "Do you think a lullaby would still work?" 

Waffling for a moment, Steve shrugged a bit helplessly.  "Maybe?" 

Bucky didn't pause to ask what a lullaby was-- and frankly, at his point, he didn't find himself too concerned by it. He cast a final look back to them, eyes lingering for a moment on Loki, warning silent but heard all the same, before he left. 

* * *

 

The Hulk Tank wasn't quite how Bucky had last seen it.  He recalled locking himself in there, the small cot pushed at the back, and the cement floors and reinforced glass. 

There had been something in passing, some babble Tony had spat in an attempt at distraction, and Bucky was surprised to see the follow-through from something that had been said so fleetingly.   

Where the Hulk Tank had once been barren and empty, now there was plush everything.  Soft colors and softer material; if Bucky wasn't mistaken, there was a pile of large beanbags stacked toward the back wall of the tank where his cot had been, the concrete floor covered in a massive, shag carpet.  Even the light had changed, from the harsh fluorescents to something much more blue and soft.  Hell, Tony had even shoved a bunch of small toys in between the dozens of pillows that littered the place. 

At the center of the tank, Bruce was hunched over on himself, half transformed and panting heavily.  He was a contrast to his surroundings; green and agitated, growling low even surrounded by all of that soft.  

Tony was plastered to where the door was, hands on the glass, voice low and steady as he talked to Bruce through the tank's thick walls.  "-- and then, if you can fucking believe it, I got it into my dense head that I could build a large scale paper plane and fly it from the rooftop of the place up in Rochester.  I wanted to get it across the lake.  Jarvis nearly had a heart attack." 

Bruce grunted out a sharp sound and Tony nearly jumped.

"Right.  Probably not smart, talking about personal injuries right now, that's what got you all grumpy." Tony said in a rush.  "But I'm fine.  I'm fine now, Brucie bear, see?  Look over here, big guy, look at how fine I am."  

Bruce peered over his shoulder briefly, but caught sight of the gaggle stepping out from behind Bucky-- Steve and Natasha and Clint trailing right off of his flank-- and he buried his face in his hands instead of giving in to Tony's coaxing.  " _Go away."_

"Tony?" Natasha called, ghosting by Bucky's side as Tony slapped a hand against the glass.  "Maybe we should--" 

"No," Tony snapped.  "No, this is-- Bruce, big guy, c'mon.  It's okay.  There's nothing-- This is my fault.  There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Bucky had never paused to consider what the Hulk would actually be like, having assumed he'd be an uncontainable threat, given the few things he'd read about Banner's other half. He hadn't expected to find something so human on the other side of the glass, and after a brief moment of guilt passed, Bucky moved up to Tony's side.

"I’m taken it you two got down here alright?"

Tony let out a shaky sigh.  "There's a dent near the control panel-- mean and green wasn't fond of the little sound it made as it passed each floor.  Otherwise, jim and dandy." 

Bucky nodded slowly. "If you want, we can go. If it's just gonna freak Banner out more."

"I don't know," Tony's mouth twisted up, forehead thunking against the glass.  

"We could try a lullaby?" Natasha offered, voice soft. 

"I don't  _know_ ," Tony frowned. 

Bucky let a hand fall onto Tony's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Hey. It'll be okay."

"Yeah," Tony breathed, shuddering under his touch and then shying away.  "I know, it's just... My fault." 

"From what I understand it's less your fault than it is a particular Norse god's." Natasha muttered. 

Bucky moved his hand away after only a moment longer, grunting out a quiet sound. "Ain't your fault big, green, and grumpy wants to keep an eye on you."

Tony let out a small breath, fingers flexing over the glass.  Then his lips pressed thin, brows drawing together, and beside him Natasha already knew she wouldn't like what was going to happen next. 

"I'm going in there." 

" _What_?" Steve jerked slightly from behind them. 

Clint snorted.  "Called it." 

"You're staying right here." Bucky told him. "Give Banner time, he'll deal with it on his own."

"FRIDAY --"

Natasha gripped his arm. "Tony, _no_."

"-- override on the safety protocol. Get me in there --"

"FRIDAY, you can't do that." Bucky interrupted.  “You’ll be endangering your creator.  You’ve got backdoor protocols for that.”

"…Override will take a moment, boss. Perhaps your teammates are correct in their concern."

"I just rode an elevator down with the guy -- he's not gonna hurt me."

"He might not mean to." Bucky said evenly. "But he packs a punch."

Tony let out a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut as he thunked his head against the glass again. 

"He's safe in there." Bucky told him, tone softening. "It'll be alright."

"Yeah," Tony muttered. "Yeah, okay."

"Ain't your fault Loki got in the way." Bucky told him. "Just… don't go do something stupid to try make up for it."

Tony scoffed out a laugh. "Can't help it. It's my job to fix things."

"Nothing all that broke to fix." Bucky retorted. "Just-- Look, it'll be alright, I sorted it."

Tony blinked over at him, brows shooting up. "You sorted it?"

Bucky shrugged stiffly. "Yeah, kind of."

"What --?" Tony's lips pursed, like he was fighting a smile. "What exactly does that mean?"

To his credit, Bucky managed to look guilty for all of three seconds. "I just had a little talk with him, that's all."

"Just a little talk?" 

Natasha's mouth twitched.  "Maybe threatened him a little." 

Steve heaved out a sigh.  "Is this really something to joke about?" 

"Absolutely," Tony glanced over his shoulder at him. 

"It wasn't even all that bad." Bucky shrugged. "I just had to get his attention, that's all. No one got really hurt."

"I think I would've like to see you hurt him," Tony muttered. 

Clint failed to muffle a laugh.  "Yeah, man, me too." 

"And here I was beginning to think you and Loki were becoming best friends." Natasha lifted a slow brow, placing a tentative hand at Tony's shoulder, finally managing to coax him away from the glass.  

"Yeah, well... Still woulda liked to watch him get his ass handed to him." 

"Maybe later, if I'm feeling up to it." Bucky said, lips flicking in to a smile. 

Tony laughed, clapping him on the back and giving one last look back at where Bruce was still trying to get control of himself before he let himself be guided along. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

 

“So what happened with the Evil Wonder Twins?” Tony asked, much later, a cup of coffee clutched between his hands.

The entire team was gathered, bar Wanda and Vision and Bruce, settled in the common area.  Tony was on the edge of one of the couches, feet bare and planted firm on the carpet the draped over the glass floor, elbows resting on his knees.  Across from him, Steve and Bucky had settled into similar positions, while Sam paced back and forth behind the back of the chaise.  Scott was twitching in his own chair, fidgeting with some little beaded bracelet that had BEST DAD in big block letters on it.

They’d all changed out of the gear.  It was dark outside, and the clean-up had taken most of the day before authorities considered it passable for reopening—strictly under Pepper’s unrelenting urging that with the trouble taken care of, the rest of the event should keep going without a hitch.  It had helped that the currently working Task Force—basically SHIELD Jr.—had agreed that the threat was neatly contained and there had been no fatalities, only a bit of collateral damage, and that Tony had paid a hefty sum in order to get that fixed with the Maria Stark Foundation. 

Even Tony had spent the rest of the day helping clean-up, much to a few team member’s chargin.  Some of the Xandarian guests had utilized a number of fancy tech equipment to ease the way, much to the delighted applause from rubberneckers huddled at the blockade watching and waiting.  It all fed well into the ideas of Tony’s miniature Expo in the first place.

The press was eating it up.

Now, though, they were all unwound.  Soft cotton and sleep pants.  The only one not dressed down was Loki, who hovered at the farthest edges, required for their talk but not wanted. 

Clint cleared his throat.  “Task Force took them in.  I imagine they’re on the RAFT or at least on their way.”

Natasha nodded.  “They are.  Agent Carter confirmed their transport two hours ago.”

Steve colored just at the mention of Sharon.  Bucky nudged him with a rueful little grin.

“We’re still using that thing?” Sam sneered.

“Much as I hate the fact that it exists and we were contained quite… thoroughly there,” Clint huffed.  “It’s kinda a good thing.  We don’t really have anywhere else to keep two preternaturally strong individuals like that.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his mouth.  “The addendums have included the use and running of the RAFT, who will do it, how it will happen.  I helped design the damn thing, for containing things like—well, crazy alien gods who try and take over the world.  Not—“

“We know,” Natasha pat his shoulder and he nodded.

“T’Challa will be updating me on the status of the Accords within the week.  They’ve been disbanded, at least temporarily, but they’re working on something to go in its place.  I’ve had my fingers in it, of course, since before I dragged you all back to the Tower.” Tony said.

Bucky blinked and then squinted.  “That what all the lawyer stuff was about a few months back?”

“Yeah,” Tony huffed out a laugh.  “Trying to get the best possible options for the team, for future policies on how to handle incidents.  There would be a process, of course, and sometimes… sometimes we might not get a say in who goes where.  But the fallout is always going to be contained by relief efforts—both SI foundations and Wakandan ones.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, but then eased.  “Who goes where?”

Tony’s gaze flit to Bucky and then back to Steve.  “Some people might be allowed and others won’t—internationally, I mean.  Individual contracts will be drawn for each country that signs, of course, and it’ll be laid out then who can’t go where.  I’m working on an AI with an algorithm to process any incident requests.  But there’s a stipulation that T’Challa is pushing involving mass scale events; things like aliens and the like.

“But then there’s the issue with Enhanced individuals in individual states and districts.  How certain countries want to… handle them.  We’ll have to work with that.”

Natasha hummed.  “The new Task Force, once it’s created, will have a group for that?”

“And intergalactic affairs.  Thor’s already on that comity.”

“And who’ll figurehead?” Scott asked, then shrugged when they glanced his way.  “There’s not, like, a _director_ or _general_ or something, right?  But someone’s gotta be in charge.”

All eyes turned back to Tony.  He shook his head, wincing around a mouth of coffee. 

“No,” he croaked.  “Not me, I promise.”

“…what if we want it to be you?” Natasha asked.

Tony let out a shaky laugh.  “You don’t.”

Thor shook his head.  “Nay.  We do.  You have put this in order.  I believe someone like you working in tandem with other chair members like myself would be best.  Someone familiar.  A well-known and well-loved face.”

Tony’s mouth worked. 

“We’ll figure it out when it comes to it,” Steve finally said after a long moment, sharking a long look with Tony.  “But Thor’s not wrong.  Once this is all over, once it’s all done, I think… after all you’ve done and all that’s happened since—I think you’d be best for this Tony.  I think you’d do what’s best for us.  For the team.  For the world.”

Tony swallowed thick, but he bobbed his head, eyes casting down. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he rasped and took another drink from his mug, savoring it in a way that hinted maybe there was more than just coffee and crème clouding it.  “But… for now… we lucked out with the events today.  Big time.  The Expo, Teen Witch and her bulky beau, everything.  But it’s just the beginning.”

“Thanos,” Loki finally said, almost cringing at the name on his own tongue.  “He is fast approaching.”

“Yes.”

Steve sat straight, taking a deep breath.  “Then it’s good that we’re prepared.  It’s time to put the final touches on this.

“It’s time for us, all of us, to make sure we’re ready.  Thanos could rain hell down on us any day now.  Some of us,” Steve tried not to look at Tony.  “might not be seeing it to the end.  We need to be ready for that.  But we _are_ ready for him.  We _will_ do this, protect the world… and we’ll do it together.”

The silence that came after was somber.  Encompassing. 

They could feel it in the air, in their bones, and they knew.  The end was drawing near.

Natasha reached over and stole a large drink from Tony’s mug, the bite of alcohol a balm, and grinned a grim smile at the rest of them.  She tipped the cup, leaning back against the couch next to Tony, voice a husky droll that they all felt to their core—Tony and Clint already grinning right back.

“To the end of the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon, tying up loose ends. 
> 
> Then, the end of all things.


	23. Chapter 22: Even Darkness Has Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: Another One Bites the Dust ft. Robot Rock

The kitchen was quiet, the way Clint had grown to like it over the last months in the early mornings.  Usually, Sam and Steve wouldn't surface until after their morning regimen, and despite appearances, Natasha was very fond of sleeping in when she could.  

Sometimes, on these mornings, Clint would run into Wanda on her way down from her morning sun greetings-- or whatever she'd called them, he loved the kid but honestly had no idea what the fuck she was talking about half the time-- but with her and Vision down in Florida until the end of the week, making sure the newest recruits were settled, that would be unlikely.  Other times, Scott would be out on the balcony, drinking coffee and video chatting with Cassie, who woke up inhumanly early the way that children did-- Clint would know, the third of his own offspring would hit that phase soon enough-- in order to catch old reruns of Scooby-Doo and Transformers on TV before school.  However, Scott had been busy the last few days after the near miss of a disaster that the Expo in Central Park had been, working with his team and Hank Pym of all people via Skype chats in the only half-used R&D floor that Tony would allow Pym access to.  

Not because Tony thought he could get through any of his encrypted firewalls, or  _ FRIDAY _ for that matter, but because Tony was kind of a dick sometimes.  It was one of the things Clint liked most about him, especially now that he'd had time to get over being resentful for the whole RAFT thing. Or, as Natasha and his  _ own wife _ had fondly put it, stopped being a grouchy old man and holding a stupid grudge against a man who had saved his ass more than once thing. 

It hadn't helped that Tony had made them all new equipment.  Or his apparent and continual efforts to use signs around him.  Or the fact that he kept Clint stocked in Tanqueray and the Quinjet ready for whenever he needed to see, touch, or hold his family close. 

Tony was a dick sometimes, but damn if Clint didn't have a soft spot for the guy.  Even when he was giving Tony hell. 

So the kitchen was quiet, like usual, as Clint sat and drank his too hot coffee that was too black but was perfect for waking him.  Right up until Tony came bursting in, practically shouting over his shoulder at whoever was trailing behind him up the stairs, flicking holographs that hovered and spiraled around him, an odd looking headgear wrapped around his forehead and stranger looking gloves on his hands, and looking like he probably hadn't slept in the last five days since nearly drowning in front of them all. 

"--so stupid, I can't believe I spaced out on factoring in  _ reentry _ !" Tony huffed, arms everywhere, always such a blur of movement.  "I mean, luckily the heat load I'll experience will be minimal-- I'm not trying to bring a whole  _ ship _ down through atmo-- but the  _ friction _ .  I'm gonna have to calculate the drag coefficient by looking at some of NASA's data on object reentry-- FRI, shoot out a message to Carol, would you?-- but I  _ know _ I'm gonna need something to buffer the Orion or I'll burn up before I ever touchdown.  My thermal protection system in the suit won't even cut it."

Clint wasn't surprised by spew of garbled physics mixed in with Tony's own ruminations.  He  _ was _ , however, surprised by the person trailing behind him.  

"Y'could just build a collapsible heat shield," Rocket padded after Tony, watching with avid eyes as he tossed floating blue schematics off to the side, Groot small and content where it was curled over Rocket's back.  "Same idea, yanno, with the TPS. Just bigger." 

Tony paused, frowning down at him.  "What, like, an SLA?  Won't that be too heavy, collapsible or not?" 

Rocket waffled a bit and Groot made what might've been a grumpy sound at being so thoroughly jostled by the movement.  "Might be.  But if ya get the right materials, could probably make it work." 

Head cocking over, Tony seemed to go off in his own head for a moment, and from the coffee bar, Clint couldn't help but raise his brows and fidget with his earpiece-- as if he expected to hear the genius' brain working.  

Then, Tony snapped his fingers.  "Phenolic impregnated carbon ablator."

Rocket seemed to rock back on his heels.  "That carbon fiber?" 

"Coupled with a phenolic resin-- probably novotext." Tony nodded.  

"You gotta fancy blueprint for the plates?" Rocket seemed eager, rubbing his paws together. 

Tony's grin was slow coming but broad.  "Not yet, but I could use the feedback." 

"I'm the  _ king _ of feedback," Rocket crowed just as the elevator doors were sliding open. 

Quill stepped out astride Steve, sweating nearly as much as Sam was.  "You aren't the king of anything." 

"M'gonna singe your damn brows off, Star- _ dork _ !" Rocket snarled. 

Clint nearly snorted up his coffee as Tony stifled a laugh against the back of his wrist, holograms twisting briefly around him with the motion. 

"I bet you'd try if you could  _ reach _ ." Peter retorted. 

Steve's lips twitched up, head ducking to try and hide his smile as he passed them, seemingly unaffected by the training session he'd just finished. His gaze fell on Tony, and he slowed on his way to the kitchen, leaving Sam to walk on without him, and sidling up to Tony. 

"Cap," Tony greeted with a nod, eyes bright with mirth as he watch Rocket amble after Peter, spewing curse words as Peter tried valiantly to avoid him. 

"Looks like you've been busy." Steve said evenly.

"Last minute details," Tony shrugged, glancing up, and Steve could see the exhaustion now that he was so close. 

Steve's brows furrowed in, and he shifted on his feet. "Seems to still be a few details to cover. You hanging in okay?"

"Great. Better, actually, now that I've got the suit done." Tony nodded, then faltered. "Or almost done. It's like 99.8% done. There's just a small matter I overlooked."

"What kinda matter?" Steve asked. 

"Um. Well it's space tight -- good for breaching atmosphere because I have some built ins that will shed as I go -- like a rocket?" Tony frowned, fingers twitching and a blur of blue appeared between them. "But I kinda forgot to factor in what happens when I need to get earth bound again. And with how small the suit is, it's not blunt enough to create the proper buffer on its own without me, you know, burning up inside."

"And we want you back in one piece." Steve said. "I know I'm not much help with this kinda stuff, but if you need anything, you know where I am."

Tony tilted his head. "It would be nice to see the new hotness in combat outside of numbers and figures of what he  _ should _ withstand on the battlefield."

Steve shrugged. "You get it up and running, and we can find someone for you to train with."

"Perfect," Tony beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Maybe--" Steve started, cutting himself off with a short huff.  "Maybe later, though.  Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Tony repeated, then frowned to himself, drawing up another schematic between them and tweaking a few things around, a sort of manicism evident in the movements. "If I work non-stop on the TLS, I might be able to get it done by tomorrow."

"...Or the next day. We have time. Don't burn yourself out." Steve added. 

Tony cast him a dry look. "You say that like you can predict the future.  I could need the damn thing ready in the next ten minutes."

"You aren't much use to us exhausted." Steve said, almost blunt. "I'm sure we'll have time.  Maybe even take a couple more days to finish it.  Thanos isn’t raining down hell on our heads just yet.  We’ve got time.” 

"Well.  Three weeks if Thor's intel is to be believed."

"Exactly. We have time." Steve repeated. 

"Time, " Tony huffed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and pulling the gear off, holograms flickering and fading. "Yeah, time."

"Take a break." Steve said, quieter now, almost coaxing. "Nothing wrong with needing a little time to yourself."

Tony seemed to fidget at the idea, shifting from foot to foot. "Right. Yeah.  I'll uh... give that a shot."

"Just-- Take care of yourself?" Steve suggested, expression softening.

"Easier said than done," Tony grunted. 

"I know."

Tony huffed out a laugh, glancing up at him as he palmed the back of his head. "That right?"

Steve gave a shrug. "I think I've got some idea"

Tony's lips pressed thin at the admission and he nodded. "I'm sure you do. How's my favorite ex part-time popsicle?"

Steve rolled his eyes.  "Bucky's fine.  He's been down in the training rooms for a while."

"That's... Good? Right? That he's... made the choice." Tony's face seemed in conflict with the rest of him. 

"Seems he's made his decision." Steve agreed.  "And it suits him; training.  Gives him something to do."

"Good," the tight line of Tony's shoulders eased. "That's good."

"I think it is," Steve said. "But I want to keep an eye on him."

"Makes sense." Tony grinned. "He's got a temper, when he wants to."

"Understatement of the century." Steve grumbled. 

Tony met his gaze, holding it steady. "It's not unlike some people I know."

"I guess we taught each other," Steve said. 

"See, I'm just wondering which one it started in." Tony's grin stretched into a genuine smile, teasing in a way he hasn't since before the Accords.

Steve returned his smile, head ducking, as if he was sharing some kind of secret. "Pretty sure I started it. At least... He'd say I started it."

"I don't doubt that," Tony replied.  “The stories I've heard would back it up."

"He been gossiping?" 

"You know how he likes to talk." 

"Oh, you have no idea." Steve said flatly.

Tony snorted. "He's not the only one who loved telling me stories about you, but he's definitely the one that puts the least shine on them."

"Gonna ruin my goddamn reputation." Steve said, grin betraying any of the seriousness in his tone.

Tony bit back a laugh, settling him with a dry look instead. "As if you can't do that for yourself."

"Oh, he could do far worse than I could, believe me." Steve replied.

"I don't wanna know," Tony shook his head, already backing up a pace. "Though I'm sure I'll find out eventually."

"I'm hoping he's got enough tact for that not to happen." Steve said. "But, I'm not holding my breath."

Tony twined his index and middle fingers together. "Here's to hoping. I'll let you know when the Orion is ready for a playdate. Gonna grab some coffee and head back down to the lab."

"Oh, no you aren't." Steve said, tone losing none of its humor. "You're going upstairs."

"Am I?" Tony blinked. 

"Yes, you are." Steve said. "Been a long day, get some rest."

"It’s morning.  Day’s barely started.” 

“For you?” 

Tony sighed.  “That mean I can't have coffee?"

"Do you usually before going to sleep?" Steve retorted, raising a brow. 

"Actually, yes."

Steve huffed out a sigh. "Of course you do."

"So coffee," Tony was already moving toward the counters. "Want some?"

"Sure. I'll keep you company." Steve agreed. 

Tony snorted, but turned so that Steve could follow. 

Rocket and Peter were still bickering by the elevator doors as they passed.  At the counters, Sam was filling up a mug and Clint sat still nursing his own. 

Tony moved to grab the French press, but blinked when Clint nudged a full and steaming cup his way.  He lifted a brow and Clint slurped his coffee down in reply.  Touching his fingers just below his lower lip, Tony arced his hand down. Clint grinned. 

Sam gestured vaguely to the coffee pot, but Steve shook his head, leaving Sam to pour his own. 

"Nice to see the tourists are getting along." Steve said, glancing out at Rocket and Peter. "Think they're always like that?"

"Yes," Tony bobbed his head, then extrapolated when it earned him three identical  _ looks _ . "Rocket is an asshole, but a brilliant one. Soft spot a mile wide for that goofy little tree guy and, man, his paws are handy in tech. But he's not great with people. Even when he cares about then. It's how shows affection from what I've seen so far."

"Is that right?" Steve asked.

"Been hanging around Roadkill a bit, then?" Clint asked, a grin coloring his expression.

"His tiny little fingers can get into tiny little places," Tony shrugged. "Plus, he's a whiz. And I'm trying to figure out how to understand Groot's monosyllabic uttering in my downtime."

"You mean the same three words?" Steve asked.

"There's some notable shifts in tone and resonance. If I can key those out, I could probably make an aid transfer or a translator." Tony took another pull from his coffee, eyes growing a bit distant, big brain kicking into gear. "Perhaps I'll talk to Thor about the Allspeak to get an idea. Though, last time I tried to do that with him I got a migraine for my trouble. Magic blows." 

"It'd be good to know what he's actually saying." Steve admitted. "As much as talking to a tree is a bit weird."

"Surreal," Clint snorted, the sound sharp enough to pull Tony back out of his head again.  "The word you're looking for? It's surreal." 

"Fucking crazy," Sam chimed in.  "All of this shit." 

Tony hid a lopsided little grin around another pull of coffee.  He shared a look with Steve. 

"Bit like old times, actually." Tony said and cleared his throat.  "You know... end of the world, big bad, aliens.  New script, same shit." 

Clint grunted.  "At least no one's tried to control my mind this time." 

Sam's nose wrinkled.  "Don't mention that around Thor's pain in the ass brother.  I wouldn't put it past him." 

Mouth twitching, Tony's gaze strayed to his coffee.  The expression was some odd mixture of amusement and maybe something a bit bitter.  Clint wasn't the only one that noticed, if Steve's shifting was anything to go by. 

"Loki's an ass," Tony finally said.  "But a useful one.  Way smarter than you, feathers." 

While Sam scowled, Clint actually grinned, leaning forward a bit where he was perched on the counter's edge.  "Which  _ feathers _ , Tinman?" he asked. 

Tony pinned him with a derisive look. "Definitely you, Robin Hood." 

But there was a wrinkling, just around Tony's eyes, that spoke of playfulness.  Something he and Clint hadn't been in a long time but might be slowly getting back to.  

Clint, never one to back down from a challenge, simply puffed out his chest in the airs of peacocking.  "My wife tells me I'm very smart, thank you very much." 

Sam choked on a mouthful of coffee when he laughed and Tony wasn't much better, snickering into the lip of his mug.  

"I'm sure your wife tells you a lot of things." Steve said, lips twitching in amusement. 

Hand over his chest, Clint swayed. "You  _ wound _ me."

One of Steve's brows ticked up, grin hardly hidden from view by the duck of his head. "Who me?"

"Don't pull that good ol' boy, Mr. Apple Pie shit on me, Rogers." Clint jabbed a finger in his direction, and Tony nearly doubled over sniggering, eyes squeezing shut. 

Steve glanced Tony's way, expression fond as he watched him laugh, unable to keep the grin off his face in response. "Language."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Rogers." Clint tossed his hands up but he was grinning too.

Tony's eyes were alight with genuine mirth, posture easy, slumped back against the edge of the counter across from Clint and Steve as Sam hovered in the middle, nursing his own drink, watching them all with his arms half crossed and the line of his shoulders settled. Tony took another drink, then gestured with a swing of his chin to Clint. 

"You kiss your wife with that mouth, Barton?" Tony said. 

"Sure hope not." Steve said, moving to lean against the kitchen countertop, tearing his eyes from Tony in order to raise a derisive brow Clint’s way. 

Clint seemed even more offended by that, pressing a hand over his chest, melodrama oozing off of him.  "Rogers, I thought we were bros." 

Sam snorted into his coffee again, the gap between his front teeth apparent as he glanced between them all.  "Careful, Steve.  You might break his poor damn heart." 

"You don't get on Wilson for cracking foul language," Clint pointed out, brows up, then jerked a thumb toward where Tony had settled back against the edge of the island, legs crossed at the ankle as the coffee actually seemed to settle him into a more drowsy state-- or, perhaps, it was the comfortable banter of conversation.  "Or Stark, for that matter." 

"That's because I know when and where to use it, cupcake." Tony made a kissy face at him. 

"Maybe I like them better?" Steve suggested, the grin on his face betraying any ounce of seriousness in his tone. 

"Shucks, Cap." Tony bat his lashes. "I like you better too."

Clint clutched at his chest, like he'd retained a physical blow. " _ Et tu _ , Stark?"

Tony snorted again, unable to hide the laugher crinkling around his eyes. 

"Yeah, I'm sure you two like each other plenty." Sam said, lips twitching in amusement as he moved from his place by the bench, giving Steve a pointed look as he passed by to leave. "I'll catch you guys around, right?"

Steve's head ducked in that way it often did when he was caught out, a flush creeping slowly up his neck. "Yeah. I'll see you around."

"That should probably be my cue too." Tony's mouth twisted into a frown that was near a pout.

"Don't let me catch you in that lab, okay?" Steve said, turning to him, a fondness in his expression that wasn't often spared for Tony.

Tony held up his middle finger in reply, not looking back as he shuffled off toward the elevator. 

"I mean it, Tony!" Steve called after him.

He paused for a split second as Clint gestured for him to  _ go make sure he isn’t gonna be a dumbass, dumbass _ before he took after their resident genius. 

When he clamored into the elevator, sidling up next to Tony, he saw that the only button pressed was lower -- far lower than Tony's suite on the _ top floor _ . With a huff, he pressed it again, killing the light before pressing the button for the 92nd floor instead. 

Tony's expression twisted, but the doors were already sliding shut. "Really?"

"Really." Steve replied, settling against the far wall. "You gotta take a break."

"Jesus," Tony groaned, hiding his face in a hand. "You just don't know when to quit."

"You're only getting that now?" Steve asked. 

Tony cast him a tired, dirty look. 

Steve's gaze didn't falter. "You're not sulking back to the lab, okay?"

"I'm not  _ sulking _ ," Tony scowled. "I'm working."

"Working, then." Steve conceded. "Take some time out, you'll need it."

"Yeah, yeah, Uncle Sam." Tony grunted, but there was a grin he his well behind his coffee as he tucked his free hand into the pocket of his pants. "I guess I could go for a nap."

"In an actual bed." Steve prompted. "Not that cot thing you got downstairs."

" _ Cot thing _ ," Tony snorted, expression disdainful even in his amusement.  "You say that like that cot isn't the best developed compact mattress money can buy. Astronauts sleep on those."

"Still ain't a proper bed." Steve replied. "And you aren't an astronaut."

Tony made a small sound at that, gaze on his feet. "I will be soon."

"Aren't now, though." Steve insisted, a flickering of guilt falling over his expression.

The doors of the elevator slid open and Tony was already waving him off as he stepped out. 

"Hence my agreement, against all better judgement I might add, to your stubborn insistence that I rest for a while." Tony grinned back at him. "I'll let you know when we can test out the new hotness. Or FRIDAY will, won't you, doll?"

"Likely before you would remember to, boss."

"Rude," Tony huffed, but his grin stretched into a more genuine smile. "Stop dipping into the unmitigated amount of internet, FRI. You're getting sassy.  I didn't program you to be sassy."

"Of course, sir. I'll endeavor to keep my responses more to your liking so that you won't suspect my inevitable global domination."

"That's my girl," Tony beamed. 

Steve huffed out an indelicate laugh. "I see she's inherited your sense of humor."

"I honestly don't know how it keeps happening," Tony waved a lazy hand.  "I never program them to talk back, but here we are." 

"I'm simply following your example, sir." FRIDAY chirped. 

"J never slandered my good name the way you do, FRI." Tony placed a hand over his heart, shaking his head.  "It hurts an old man like me to hear such traducing. Such denigration!"

"Forgive me, boss." FRIDAY almost seemed amused.  

"Forgiven." Tony's mouth twitched and he cast one last look at Steve.  "Catch you later then?  We've got a lot of work to do."  

Steve offered him a smile, and inclined his head in assent. "I'll see you around, Tony."

And the doors slid shut. 

* * *

The Tower that Tony Stark had built for himself and then made into a home for his Avengers, a safe haven for those that needed it most, was a grandiose thing.  T'Challa knew that.  Had seen it in person twice now. 

Yet, upon the third occasion, he found himself stunned by the view from the topmost floor, Tony's suite sprawled out and open-- very open, no walls to hide anything except where doors led into a master bedroom and a couple of guest ones-- with a view of New York unlike any other.  Looking out those vast windows must've been a bit like what it was like to fly itself; likely the reason for the wall to wall glass paneling in the first place.  

Tony Stark did have a knack for soaring higher than all else.  

Even his tech, better and faster and easier to use, rivaled that of Wakanda’s own advances.  Sometimes, even excelled beyond.  While they predominantly communicated with the Kimoyo Beads within Wakanda’s borders, they were never without StarkTech when they were outside of the safety Wakanda offered; the Doras did love the ease with which they could use his communicators almost as much as they loved the privacy of them.  His industry’s push into green energy, his constant advances in common tech and medical aid, his very public figure heading of protecting the world from not only danger but from their own ineptitude; all of it combined to create a man that would not stop.  Would keep pressing forward.  Would keep going beyond. 

And it was reflected, even here, in the view of the city down below.  

T’Challa only turned from the sight upon the shuffle of feet, Tony's leather Alessandros clipping against the smooth tile as he stepped out from his room, shrugging himself into a dark blue suit coat that matched his trousers and easily fastening the top of the two buttons notching the front.  He offered T'Challa a bright smile, but a forced one, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he came to a stop at the base of the stairs leading up to the bar and dining area where T'Challa had been standing and admiring the lights outside.  He made a gesture to the bar, brow up, and T'Challa dipped his head-- unbuttoning his own, paler suit jacket as he took a seat on one of the stools lining the bench. 

"What'll you have?" Tony asked. 

"Surprise me," T'Challa laced his fingers in front of himself on the marble top of the bar. 

Regarding him with narrowed eyes for a moment, Tony tapped his knuckles against the bar top before nodding.  "You seem like the kinda guy who likes his liquor spicy." 

"You would not be wrong." 

Two highball glasses were set out for them, ice already placed at the chilled bottom.  T'Challa watched as Tony selectively plucked a bottle of whiskey from a long line of others, raising an eyebrow at label as Tony poured a good measure into a silver shaker, following it with what looked and smelled like juice from a blood orange. 

"That's a very expensive bottle, Mr. Stark." T'Challa noted as he finished putting some spice T'Challa couldn't place by sight or smell into the shaker with the odd mix.  

"Well, we're celebrating." Tony grinned, shaking the mixer idly back and forth once the cap was on, the sound of ice rattling around beneath metal filling the space between them.  "I mean, not  _ celebrating _ because I wouldn't make a cocktail with some of the other brands you see up there, but celebrating.  Mildly.  We are celebrating, right?" 

"Yes," T'Challa smiled.  "With your help, I have successfully pushed the addendums through.  The new council overlooking the project has already agreed to the stipulations of the formation of the New Accords."

"That wasn't me," Tony scoffed, straining out a drink for each of them.  "Jennifer Walters is a genius.  Knows her stuff.  It's why I finally hired her after the other lawyers kept chickening out over the claims in the contract." 

"She is certainly a force I am happy was on my side, rather than opposing it." T'Challa agreed, their glasses meeting with a soft  _ clink _ before they drank.  It was a heady mix of spice, of tart, with something smoky just beneath the surface.  T'Challa liked it.  "When they are drawn up and taken to vote, I intend to nominate you as the Director." 

Tony nearly choked.  "Pardon?" 

"I have already spoken, both with Thor and Captain Rogers, and they have agreed with me on this." T'Challa continued, ignoring Tony's wide eyes.  "As have a number of the representatives on the council the UN has formed.  After all of your hard work on this, they believe that in combination with your familiarity with both the New Accords and the heroes it would deem to work with, that you would be the best figure for it.  You have the best interests of all parties in mind; you've proved it.  More than once." 

"I--" Tony took another long pull from his glass, nearly emptying it.  "This is what you wanted to talk to me about?  Before we go downstairs?" 

"Yes," T'Challa nodded.  "I thought it would be a good way for them to celebrate their freedom.  Their peace.  With the knowledge that it is in good hands." 

"Lotta them aren't gonna agree with you on that, Kit-Kat." Tony shook his head, grin rueful.  "But it's a nice thought." 

"You have done a lot of right, Mr. Stark, to correct things that were not necessarily wrong." T'Challa added.  "And even more in planning the protection of outsiders with me and the defense of your world with your team." 

Mouth twitching, Tony looked down at the last dredges of his drink; the red swirling around ice cubes.  He kept his hand tucked in his pocket, fingers curled in a tight fist.  

"I didn't do it for... I didn't do it because I wanted something like that." Tony admitted, meeting T'Challa's knowing eyes.  "I don't think it's a great idea.  I'm not exactly... Director material." 

"I understand," T'Challa hummed, sitting back on his stool.  "I too felt overwhelmed at the prospect of ruling, of having that kind of power, but sometimes duty calls us.  And it is calling you, Mr. Stark.  I don't ask that on this night you say yes.  I ask that you consider it." 

"Yeah," Tony rasped.  "Sure.  Consider it considered." 

T'Challa huffed out a laugh, pushing to his feet and buttoning up his suit coat.  "Shall we, then?  I believe you have a small celebration to attend to.  Before we must focus on grimmer things." 

Tony finished off his drink and set it down with a firm nod.  They made their way to the elevator and took it down, chatting idly about T'Challa's flights from Wakanda, to Vienna, and to shiny old New York, New York until the lift doors opened and they stepped out into the common area to the sound of corks popping out of bottles.  

Surprise spread over Tony's face as Clint held out a freshly poured glass of champagne his way, but took it with a small smile as he looked around the room.  There was food, of course, but mostly takeaway Chinese cartons and pizza boxes, making it blatantly obvious that this little party was just as impromptu as T'Challa's good news.  

The Avengers were a little bit everywhere, with the Guardians mixed in between.  Scott and his gaggle were chowing through a hearty amount of pizza, Sam at their sides, beers in hand as Luis tried and failed to beat Rocket at whatever game was playing on the large flat screen.  Off by the bar on the furthest side of the room, Quill was sniffing at bottles while Natasha and Gamora leaned against the edge, chatting in a terrifyingly idle way.  Clint poured another glass for T'Challa, winking before stepping away, long stemmed glasses balanced dangerously between his fingers while he made his way around. 

An arm slung around his shoulder, knocking Tony off balance for a moment as he blinked over at Rhodey and beamed.  "Honeybear.  Stuck with the uniform this time?" 

"Just got done with a meeting," Rhodey cast him a chiding look at Tony plucked at one of the many medals hanging from his dress blues.  "Don't make it weird." 

"But you know how much I love a man in uniform--" 

A hand scrubbed through his hair, shutting Tony up more effectively than any words ever could as Tony laughed and ducked away from Rhodey's fondly exasperated affection.  

"How's the legs, Rhodes?" 

"Better every day," Rhodey said, earnest and smiling, and Tony ducked his head again for a very different reason as Rhodey tugged him out into the room toward where the most were gathered around on soft chairs and plush couches, eating and drinking and generally being way too merry.  

Tony wasn't surprised Pepper wasn't present, though he could see touches of her influence around the stupidly expensive champagne bottles; among those there, only Jane seemed the odd one out where she sat perched on the arm of Thor's chair, nursing her own beer and smiling brightly down at Thor as he spoke to Bucky and Drax about some great beast he slayed a thousand moons before.  Pepper had gone back to Malibu not long after the Expo the week previous, sharing a heartfelt goodbye with him before he sent her on her way along with sending Harley back to Tennessee and the Xandarian guests back to the estate he'd set aside in Florida; Tony was uncomfortable with letting them stay anywhere near them.  Near him.  Danger always followed a little too close. 

This time is was looming.

Taking a seat at the far edge of a chaise, Tony shared a small smile with Bruce where he was perched at the other edge too-- looking happy if not a little shaken.  It would take him a while to adjust back to being around the team again, but so far everyone had welcomed him with open arms.  Bruce was great at distracting himself anyways, focus falling back to where Groot was standing on the edge of the glass coffee table and gesturing with clumsy hands toward the glass Bruce was holding and definitely not drinking.  It seemed Tony wasn't the only one curious about decoding Groot's limited three word sentences. 

He glanced across the expanse of piled pizza boxes and caught Bucky's eyes, raising his glass in a brief greeting before surveying the rest of the room.  Clint had made his way over to Natasha, sipping at her drink when she wasn't looking, and T'Challa had moved over to where Steve was picking through some of the Chinese takeaway boxes, exchanging some talk that Tony couldn't make out over the very soft, hazy drone of music, but Rhodey was over there too-- stealing egg rolls-- and he seemed to find whatever was being said amusing because he pressed a hand to his stomach in a full belly laugh.  Only Vision and Wanda were missing-- still down with the sparse refugees and handful of Nova Corps.

"Mr. Stark." Tony glanced up, blinking at Loki in a suit that wasn't nearly as nice as Tony's but wasn't half bad, and Loki gestured at the chair to his left.  "May I?" 

"If you have to." 

Loki took his seat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  "I understand this is in celebration of you." 

Tony snorted out a laugh.  "Hardly  _ of _ me.  Just... a celebration.  Before everything goes to shit." 

"And what is it for?" 

"Something that will be important, if this all ends well." Tony sipped his drink.  "How you holding up, Rock of Ages?  Heard you and big brother Goldilocks got into a tussle in the sparring room yesterday." 

"I wanted to be sure he would not be... blinded by his righteous fury in battle.  When it comes to it." Loki said.  "He always used to forget all plans in the heat of battle." 

"So you provoked him." 

"A bit." 

"And?" 

Loki sat back, eyeing Tony for a long moment.  "I find myself surprised.  By him and by the rest of you.  I think... that we may stand a fair chance against Thanos.  In the end." 

Tony didn't miss the way Loki's gaze dropped down to the center of Tony's chest, as if the arc reactor was still there, but he knew what that look meant.  "Saw the new calculations?" 

"They're promising.  Though, not for you." 

Tony's grin turned a bit grim.  "Never is." 

The chair beside them was pulled out with a quiet grind of wood on tile, the click slide of metal plates recalibrating giving away the chairs new occupant. Bucky turned to look at them, eyes fixed on Loki for a moment too long. 

"Evening, fellas."

Tony didn't even try to hide his grin as Loki's shoulders drew tight. "Why, James Buchanan Barnes, as I live and breathe."

"You two enjoying the party?" Bucky asked, letting his gaze fall back to Tony.  

He might have looked casual, if it wasn't for the rigidity of his shoulders and the slick, slow way he moved that was entirely predatory.

"Considering it's just getting started and nothing's broken yet," Tony said, giving Bucky a look that was both amused as it was chiding. "Yes."

Loki's jaw flexed, but his tone was droll and disinterested when he spoke. "The nuance of proper conversation has certainly been lacking until you joined us, Stark. Though subtle word play is, perhaps, beyond others."

"There you go, throwing compliments at me again." Tony huffed, but his eyes were bright with amusement as Bucky's expression soured into something wonderfully dry and Tony waggled his brows at him. "You enjoying yourself, Long John?"

"Keeping out of trouble." Bucky said, gaze falling on Loki again, raising a single brow at him. 

Tony huffed out a laugh that he then tried to hide in his champagne glass. "Easy, tiger."

Loki merely held up his hands, a universal sign of peace. "I do not intend to cause any harm this evening."

Bucky grunted out a quiet sound. "Sure hope not. Wouldn't want to cause a scene."

"I would certainly be less inclined to do so now that I know you're keeping such a  _ careful _ eye on things," Loki's smile was sharp, gaze straying to Tony.

"Look at that, you do have some sense in that head of yours." Bucky retorted, metal fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the arm of his chair. 

"You surprise me, Sergeant Barnes." Loki smiled with sharp teeth.  "I thought subtle threats beyond you, yet here you are." 

"Who said I was threatening anyone?" Bucky asked. 

"Oh, darling." Loki gave him a look, gaze straying to the slow tap of metal fingers.  "You're hardly hiding it." 

"S'darling now, is it?" Bucky asked. "You say that to all the fellas who choke you out, or am I special?"

"Hardly special," Loki sniffed, focus turning back to Tony as the man watched them avidly.  "Where were we, Anthony?" 

The mirth on Tony's face faded spectacularly at the name, lips pursing.  "Big glowing Rubic's cube of doom?  When's touchdown?" 

"Ah, yes." Loki hummed.  "Heimdal should contact me in the next few days-- we must wait for Odin's attentions to fall elsewhere before I can... acquire it."

Bucky fell silent, brows furrowing in as he listened in to their conversation. He cast Tony a curious look, a single brow raised as Loki spoke. 

Tony caught his gaze fleetingly, offering nothing away but a smile and a small shake of his head.

"It disturbs me to think of being on the All-Daddy's shit list," Tony admitted. "Considering what I've read of him."

Loki's eyes wrinkled at the corners -- whether it was Tony's cautious fear or his blatant disrespect of Odin that amused him was unclear. "Odin will be a dream after the terror of Thanos.  And he will owe you a boon if all goes well. Do not fear the All-Father."

Whatever reply Tony had was swallowed down with a grimace as Clint came back around with the champagne. Clint seemed so relieved about his new officially, sanctified freedom that he even poured a glass for Loki. 

"Besides," Loki said, eyes glinting in a way Tony knew was dangerous as soon as Clint flitted away. "You and I are both well aware of your predicted success rate. Do you doubt what even your machines tell you?"

Tony's mouth pressed thin, gaze flicking rapidly to Bucky and back, and Loki's grin only broadened. "I'm kinda hoping it'll be another nuke through a wormhole scenario, but I'm not holding my breath."

"I'm sure it won't be." Bucky said. "Better not be, at least."

"Yeah," Tony offered a tight lipped grin. "Yeah, I'm sure it won't. How's your gear working, Buckaroo?"

Bucky shrugged. "Goes alright. Easier to get in and out of than I expected."

"All uniforms should be easy to get into," Tony made a face. "Your old shit just sucked."

"Don't look at me, pal. I didn't make it." Bucky said. "Took forever to get ready."

Tony shook his head like a disapproving father. "How the hell HYDRA was able to keep themselves afloat so long, I'll never know."

"Dumb luck and Communism, mostly." Bucky shrugged.

Tony snorted. "Fascism, sweetheart.  _ Fascism _ ."

"Ah, fascism. My least favorite thing." Bucky said, raising his glass in mock salute.

Tony lifted his in reply, laugh catching in his throat. "Down with fascism, I say."

"Kinda thought I woulda slept through the end of it." Bucky said, taking a drink. 

"If only, if only." Tony shook his head, solemn but for the playful glint of his eyes, but blinked not a moment later.  “I can’t believe we’re sitting here talking about corrupt government systems and the possible end of the world.  We’re all  _ way _ too sober.” 

From inside his coat pocket, Loki pulled a flask from whatever pocket dimension was hiding in there, and offered it up with a sly smile.  “I think, perhaps, I might be of assistance.” 

Let it never be said that Tony Stark didn’t know a bad idea when it looked him in the face.  

* * *

The early light of morning was not as welcome as Tony might've usually perceived it.  It was too bright and too early, especially for someone with a throbbing headache. Tony squinted awake, groaning as his body protested the momentum it took to sit up where he'd slumped over the couch.  He blinked a few times, trying to clear the haze of sleep away, and then blinked a few more times at the sight of the commons around him. 

The room was still full of people, and while the majority had found cozy ways in which to curl up and were happily sleeping through the sunrise, Tony noted that there were a few already missing-- or, perhaps, who had gone missing the night before-- and there was the distinct smell of coffee in the air.  On the chaise next to him, Bruce had passed out with a lap full of Rocket and Groot, Groot's roots carefully wound around Bruce's pinky finger, the rest of him sprawled over Rocket's back.  Across from him, Clint and Natasha were leaning against one another, almost back to back.  Drax's head was lulled back in one of the chairs and he was snoring; loudly.  The others were, notably, absent. 

He could remember celebrating the night before.  The subtle strain of the room, underneath it all, was near overwhelming for the first hour.  They all knew that, beyond the drinks and food and revelry, there was a threat constant and ever-present hanging overhead.  Eventually though, the mood had eased.  Conversation came easier the looser their tongues got, and even Bucky lost some of the tension in his shoulders when Thor drunkenly cajoled Loki into spinning another of their epic tales of heroism-- or idiocy, depending on which brother you asked-- and Drax and Rocket ended up laughing loudly and uproariously at the embarrassing twists Loki may or may not have added as embellishment.

With drunkenness had come a surprising peace; surprising, in retrospect, considering the crowd.  

Tony huffed out a small sound, noting the blanket draped over his own shoulders and the distinct lack of a tie.  He didn't give much thought to that, but grumbled and pushed himself up, scrubbing a hand through his hair until it stood on end, nose wrinkling at the way his temples throbbed.  

Champagne hangovers were the worst hangovers.

Carefully inching by, he made his way down the stairs and past where Scott and Co had all passed out together in a tangle so ridiculous it couldn't've been the first time.  Amusement welled up in Tony's chest, and he pressed absently to the place where the arc reactor used to be before stepping into the kitchen.  The smell of coffee was overwhelming, now, and he groaned and made grabby hands the second Rhodey spotted him. 

"You've gotta stop trying to keep up with Enhanced individuals," he said, sliding him a steaming mug. 

"Marry me," Tony mumbled, cradling the cup close and eyeing the way Rhodey and Sam seemed to be working together so easily in the kitchen; almost like they'd made breakfast together before.  "Platypus, have you been holding out on me?" 

"We've both done our fair share of kitchen duty," Sam grunted with a wry look over his shoulder.  "Deployment can be tedious, but it gives you a chance to learn new skills." 

"Or get ripped," Rhodey puffed out his chest. 

"That was one tour," Tony snorted, slapping him in the diaphragm with the back of his hand, though it carried no weight.  "And you forgot leg day.  Multiple times." 

Rhodey's eyes narrowed.  "I will take that coffee away." 

Tony twisted away slightly, using his body to shield his mug.  The kitchen door swung open, and Steve blinked down at him when Tony leveraged him around with a firm grip on his elbow, placing Steve bodily between himself and Rhodes.  

"Good morning?" Steve stood there, letting Tony hide behind him.  "Did I miss something?" 

"He's being petulant." Rhodey huffed.  "And not getting any bacon because of it." 

Tony gasped out, loudly and overly horrified.  "I thought we  _ had _ something." 

Steve glanced behind him to where Tony stood, brows furrowed in, and the back to Rhodes, offering a shrug. "Y'know, you could always make your own."

"That defeats the  _ entire  _ purpose of someone making communal breakfast, Cap." Tony scowled up at him, leaning around to cast a dirty look Rhodey's way.  "Which you well know." 

Laughing, Rhodey held up both hands in surrender.  "Of course.  How could I forget?  Whatever you'd like, your Majesty."

Huffing, Tony nodded once, straightening out like he'd won and rounding Steve-- only for Rhodey to snatch his coffee away.  "Hey!" 

Grin bright, Rhodey held it up and out of reach, other hand braced against the counter's edge.  "What was that?  You're sorry for making fun of me?" 

"I will destroy everything you know and love!" Tony raised up on his toes, reaching up to try and capture his cup back.  

"What?  You're sorry for ever doubting me?  For making fun of the cripple with leg braces?" 

"I'll tell Roberta!" 

Sam was laughing so hard that he nearly cracked an egg, shell and all, into the frying pan. 

"Children, please." Steve said, lips twitching in amusement as he watched them. 

"You stay out of this, Rogers." Tony barked, straining up as Rhodey bit back a laugh of his own.  "God--  _ Damn it _ , Jim!" 

"Oh, you did  _ not _ ." Rhodey's face fell instantly.  "Take it back." 

Tony rocked back onto his heels.  "What was that,  _ Jim _ ?  I'm afraid I didn't hear you,  _ Jim _ ." 

"Anthony Edward Stark, I will end you." Rhodey held out a finger. 

Tony pressed a hand to his chest.  "Oh, no!  Say it isn't so!  The great and mighty  _ Jimbo _ is threatening me!  Catch me, Cap, I might faint." 

"Wasn't I supposed to stay outta it?" Steve asked, a grin twisting his expression. 

A fond annoyance took up shop on Tony's face as he cast an unamused look Steve's way.  "Oh, so  _ now _ you're all about rules and regulations." 

"When it suits me." Steve shrugged, smiling at him. 

"That's--" Tony laughed and then caught himself, fixing Steve with a stern look.  "That's not as funny as you think it is." 

"I think it's pretty funny," Sam added over his shoulder.  

"Sam Wilson: audience member of one, everybody." Tony threw his hands up and then winced, voice pitching as he looked to Rhodey.  " _ Honeybear _ ." 

"Ugh, you're disgusting." Rhodey rolled his eyes and slid the mug over to him finally, smile lopsided. 

Steve cast a smile Sam's way, moving to grab himself a cup of coffee. Silence fell between them for a moment before Steve spoke up, glancing at Tony. 

"Sore head?"

Tony groaned, head lulling back. "Not you too."

At Steve's confused brow, Sam nudged him. "Rhodes has already given the over-drinking talk. I think you're good, man."

"I've changed my mind," Tony flashed a grin his way. "Sam, you're officially my favorite Avenger. Don't tell Rhodey; he's sensitive."

Rhodey  _ thwapped  _ him upside the head and Tony winced around his cackling. 

"Probably got a sore head after that." Steve mumbled, half muffled by his coffee mug. 

"You're all terrible people." Tony decided. 

"You live with us." Steve shrugged.

Tony gave him a narrow eyed look. "For now."

"C'mon, Tones, don't be like that." Rhodey plied him with more coffee. "It's not Boy Wonder's fault you hit the bottle a little too hard. Like, almost leather pants hard."

Tony somehow simultaneously blushed and blanched at the same time. "Rhodey," he warned. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I feel there's a story here?"

"Oh," Rhodey grinned. "A story. Photographic evidence. YouTube videos. A month's worth of tabloids --"

"I am  _ so  _ revoking War Machine privileges."

"-- still by far the best and most embarrassing thing I've ever witnessed." Rhodey said, digging around in his pant pocket. "Pretty sure I have a couple pictures saved on my phone to keep Tony toeing that line."

"FRIDAY," Tony's voice raised an octave as the kitchen door swung open behind him, Bucky trailing in, lured by the smell of breakfast. 

"Who's toein' a line?" Bucky asked, still soft with the last dregs of sleep, gratefully accepting a coffee and a kiss on the cheek from Steve. 

"Stark apparently used to get around in leather pants." Sam replied, a smile tainting his words.

Bucky raised a brow. "Are there photos?"

Tony groaned. 

"Here," Rhodey tossed his phone and Bucky caught it with one hand. 

"FRIDAY, remind me to purge the internet of anything from the 90s." Tony muttered, the tips of his ears pink, frowning down into his mug. 

"Of course, boss."

* * *

Tony was halfway through a three day tech remodel when Bruce finally made him stop and slow down.  It was hard to pull him away, the lines of Tony’s face more apparent in his exhaustion and coffee on his breath, but between the imminent threat overhead and the worried looks Barnes or Rogers gave him when they stopped in to deliver food while Tony puttered away-- upgrading this and fixing that-- were enough to convince, even if Bruce’s quiet chiding hadn’t done it. 

“You mind if I keep playin’ with your doodads, Stark?” Rocket asked as Tony finally set down the wrench.  “Won’t touch any of your stuff, promise.  Just got a itch.” 

“You’re gonna make a bomb, you mean.” Tony grinned. 

“Yeah, prolly.” 

Tony snorted.  “Just as long the boom doesn’t happen in the lab, we’re good.” 

“No promises,” Rocket returned Tony’s grin with all of his canines. 

Tony waved him off with another soft laugh, letting Bruce lead him out and toward the elevators that would take them up the two floors to his suite from the shared lab overlooking the commons.  He’d come up from his private lab two days earlier to ask Bruce about chemical balances in one of the stunner arrows he’d been prototyping for Clint, curious to see if Bruce thought the mixture would be enough to take down a Hulk sized Mad Titan; he’d found Rocket and Bruce and Groot in there together and stayed. 

It was better that the isolation of his own lab, Bruce thought, though he wondered if Tony had stayed for more than the company.  Rocket certainly loved telling Tony what about his tech was absolutely obsolete, and Tony loved snarking right back that Rocket should show him a better way with the materials on hand or to “eat his own tail.” 

“How are you doing, Tony?” Bruce asked as the elevators slid shut.  

Tony, rubbing a tired hand over his face, stopped mid-motion.  “Depends,” he answered with a sad earnesty.  “On one hand, I’m fucking great.  Whole family is back together, shit’s finally going well, I’ve got a new science bro that is surprisingly furry.” 

“And on the other?” 

“There’s still a lot of variables up in the air.” Tony sighed.  “And things are going well…” 

“...which means that they won’t be soon.” Bruce nodded.  

Tony fell silent, crossing his arms over his chest as the elevator doors slid open to his suite and they stepped out.  His mouth worked, jaw tight, and Bruce knew that meant he was thinking about all of those unknown variables.  

“You think about after?” Tony asked after a long moment of quiet, padding over to the bar, going through the motions of fixing himself a drink.  “You know, the after of all of… this shit?  What we’re gonna do?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well… I know everything is great now, everyone working together, but I wonder about-- You know, you weren’t around for the Accords, but none of them… They wouldn’t sign it.  Most of ‘em didn’t even read the damn things, cover to cover.” Tony flapped a hand.  

“You’re worried about the fallout, if we survive,” Bruce hummed, sliding into a seat and watching Tony steal a drink straight from the bottle with a frown.  “If new battle lines will be drawn, after the dust settles, or if they’ll finally suck it up and sign on.” 

“Seems like they will, but…” Tony heaved a great sigh.  “But I thought they would back when good ol’ Thad slapped the Accords down the first time, that we’d see them for what they were, and stick together to work within the confines to fix it.” 

Bruce waited.  Waited until Tony finished fixing his drink and looked up at him, holding his gaze. 

“That didn’t happen.  And now, there’s talk of me being shoved into the leading position, and I just,” Tony bit off whatever he was gonna say, taking a drink from his glass this time. 

“You worry.” 

“A  _ lot _ .” Tony bobbed his head.  “What if… Hell, Bruce, what if I’m not around to corrall them?  I still believe in the purpose of these stupid things, we need to have a way to sort accountability.  Need a reliable group to figure out what’s worth the risk and what isn’t.  Need someone to run clean-up when shit hits the fan.” 

“Tony,” Bruce sighed.  “We’ll figure it out.  You know I don’t… Thaddeus Ross is probably my  _ least _ favorite person, but I know that what you were doing-- what you  _ are _ doing-- is for the best.  If it makes you feel any better, I would’ve signed.” 

Tony looked up sharp from where he was staring into the dark swirl of amber and ice.  “Yeah?  Really?” 

“Really,” Bruce nodded.  “I kinda like the idea… active duty non-combatant?  Called in  _ only _ when there was a state of emergency?  Having a way, other than you having to throw your money at things, to fix damage me or the Big Guy might cause?  Sounds like it’d take a lot of stress out of the whole superhero gig.” 

Tony’s expression softened considerably.  “Thanks, string bean.  That… That’s actually a huge load off my--” 

The elevator doors dinged somewhere behind Bruce.  Tony blinked as they slid open, brows flying up at the sight of Bucky walking in, speaking in low Russian tones to his second favorite assassin. 

“John,” Tony smiled.  “What in the world are you doing back here?” 

John walked up to the bar, and the second Tony caught sight of the butterfly stitches over his right brow, he poured him a whiskey on the rocks and passed it over.  “I have good news,” John said. 

“Do tell,” Tony glanced between him and where Bucky sidled up on the other side of Bruce at the other side of the bartop.  “Buck.” 

Barnes offered him a smile and tipped his head in greeting, hands folded neatly together on the bartop.  He slid his gaze John's way for a moment before he looked back to Tony.  

"It's alright news."

"Alright news or good news?" Tony asked, gesturing between them. "I'm getting mixed signals here."

Bucky offered a shrug. "I'm sure he'd call it good news."

Tony huffed, gaze shifting. "Johnny boy?"

"Secretary -- or, I suppose, ex - Secretary Ross has been officially indicted." John said. 

Instantly, Tony's shoulders drew tight. "FRI?"

"Pooling news sources, boss. Nothing released to the press yet."

Tony's throat worked a moment. "And the flip side of this coin?"

"He's been charged, stripped of rank, and locked away. But you and I both know that men of power like his don't just disappear." John replied, mouth grim. 

"How much?" Tony deflated a bit. "I mean, if there's a hit out on me, it's gotta be a lot. Most people aren't stupid enough to do it for less than what it's worth to possibly go head to head with a guy who walks around in a giant metal suit."

John frowned further. "Enough."

"Well, shit."

"Alright news." Bucky repeated, expression flat. "Ain't the worst, but it sure isn't a basket of roses."

"I would've preferred the roses."

"Likewise." Bucky said. 

"Something is better than nothing, I suppose." Tony knocked back his drink. 

"Anything would be better than a number hanging over your head." Bucky grunted. 

"Aw, Robocop, you worried?" Tony bat his lashes. 

Bruce snorted with a fond shake of his head. 

"Yeah. Cause I'm always the one stuck with warding off the competition." Bucky retorted. 

"Easy, big guy." Tony muttered.  "There's plenty of me to go around." 

"He's like a cat," John added.  "But with way more lives." 

"More than you got." Bucky grumbled. 

John arched a brow. 

Bucky met his gaze, level and utterly unimpressed. "What?"

Instead of answering, John looked back to Tony, sliding his empty cup over the bar and jabbing a thumb in Bucky's direction.  "He got a stick up his ass I don't know about?" 

Tony snorted out a startled sound, then failed to hide his laughter behind a hand. 

"Certainly  _ don't  _ have somethin up my ass." Bucky grunted, glancing their way.

It only served to make Tony laugh harder, shoulders shaking with it.  "Oh, my god, Barnes." 

Bucky's lips twitched up. "What?"

"If you're in such dire need of a good lay, why don't you go track Captain Amazing down in the gym?" Tony waggled his brows.  "I'm sure he wouldn't mind." 

Bruce's nose actually wrinkled up.  "Tony." 

"Please," Tony waved a hand.  "You've walked in on me doing worse than  _ implying _ something." 

Bucky's nose screwed up. "He's too busy. Was gone this morning by the time I got up."

"That man is a walking shame," Tony shook his head, dolling out another drink for John and then himself.  

Bucky grunted out a sound. "He tries though, bless his patriotic ass."

"And  _ that's  _ where I call it a night," Bruce finally sighed, pushing up.  "Tony, get some rest.  Eat something besides booze and coffee.  I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Night, boo bear." Tony waved him off with a smile.  

"Night, Banner." Bucky said, considerably brighter than he had been previously. 

"So," Tony breathed as the elevator took off. "Was that all? Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't get called in for Ross' hearing. Probably should've."

"The man ordered a hit on you in broad daylight and when that didn't work he shot you himself." John frowned. 

"Better that you stay out of it, all things considered." Bucky said. "Pretty sure Ross isn't worming his way out of this one."

"Here's to hoping," Tony lifted his glass. 

"I'd drink to that." Bucky said. 

"James Buchanan Barnes, what  _ would _ Steven say?" Tony poured him a drink anyway, grinning all the while. 

"Probably that it's unfair that I can still get drunk." Bucky retorted. 

"The poor man," Tiny pressed a hand to his chest, gaze flitting  to John. "Wicker Man?"

John's shoulders slump. "I hate to ask, but..."

"Killed somebody you shouldn't've?" Tony pressed his lips thin. "No problem, Neo. You keep your ear to the ground for me and I'll call it even."

Bucky raised a brow at John, curious as metal finger tips clinked against glass, hand half curled around his half empty drink. "You get yourself into trouble?"

"Something like that."

Tony eyes him a moment and then snapped his fingers. "You're the art museum incident!"

With a dry look, John knocked his drink back and then held out his glass. Tony happily refilled it. 

"Am I missin’ something important here?" Bucky asked.

"Murder spree at the NYC modern art museum, right around the time the Expo was going on." 

Bucky grunted out a little sound. "Not real subtle."

"Wasn't looking for subtly," John scowled, fingers flexing around his glass. "Was looking for a little bloodshed."

Tony nodded, solemn and knowing. "Sometimes you gotta express some rage."

Bucky gave a shrug. "Whatever works for you."

A silence fell upon them for a long stretch.  Then Tony sighed. 

"Well, aren't we all just a load of awesome."

"Real talkative bunch." Bucky remarked.

Tony gave him a dull look. "How's your gear working?"

Bucky gave a shrug. "Could use a few tweaks."

"Tweaks as in full overhaul or tweaks as in you don't like how it pinches around your shoulders?" Tony's lips pursed. 

Bucky hesitated for a second. "Okay.  So, it does tweak my shoulders. But more concerned about the armour down my spine. Makes some things hard to do. I gotta be able to move."

Tony hummed.  "Bring it down to the-- sorry, correction  _ up _ to the lab tomorrow.  I'll take a look at it." 

Bucky grunted out a sound, and inclined his head. "Sure. I'll bring it down."

"Check and double check," Tony nodded, knocking back his drink with a hiss.  "Now, if you both are done dropping bombs on me like Ross and defunct gear, I think I should catch a few blinks of sleep before Bruce comes back up to scold me.  Johnny, take your pick from sub level two.  Let me know if you need anything else, FRIDAY will be accessible via the feeds in the car." 

Pushing to his feet, John held out his hand.  "Thank you, Tony.  Really." 

"Don't get dog hair all over my interior," Tony winked, but took his hand in reply.  "And don't get blown up." 

"No promises." 

Bucky was still for a moment before he got to his feet, trailing after John. He refrained from making protest, although he eyes the assassin with no small amount of dubiousness as he passed. Bucky's eyes flickered towards Tony, a smile curling his lips just slightly. "Sleep well, yeah?"

"Will do, big guy. See you tomorrow."

* * *

“Remind me again why we’re lingering like fools?” Gamora crossed her arms, leaning back against the weight bench as Quill wracked his bar with a gunt. 

Wiping sweat from his brow, he draped a towel over his shoulder.  “Rocket said there’d be a show.” 

Gamora raised a brow. “Last time  _ Rocket _ found something entertaining enough to call a show, he nearly caused a war between moons.   _ And  _ got Mantis caught in the crossfire.” 

A dopey grin spread over Peter’s face.  “It was pretty funny, though.  Admit it.” 

Gamora narrowed her eyes. 

“Mantis got a laugh out of it,” he shrugged. 

“Because Rocket convinced her to mediate using her abilities and  _ humiliated _ the  _ minister _ in front of  _ everyone _ .” Gamora huffed. 

“Details,” Peter waved a hand.  “I’m sure this is different.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Gamora pushed away from him, pacing over to where Natasha was running through the morning stretches with Bucky, Clint, and Scott.  The two story gym was more full than usual, most of their crew and what Camora had come to know as the Avengers, running through a variety of fitness reps and sprawled at the edges; leaving the parring mat at the center clear.  From across the room, Drax’s delighted boom of laughter echoed while he and Thor stacked weight upon weight, an obvious challenge between them as Captain Rogers spotted them both. 

The only ones missing included the scientists and the mage; both Rocket and Groot suspiciously absent as well.  Though, she sincerely doubted that would last long. 

“Anything I can assist with?” Gamora asked when Natasha looked up at her. 

She shrugged a shoulder.  “You could run Barnes through his paces.  He needs to test his new gear.” 

Bucky looked up from his bend, brow quirked.  “You’re sayin’ that like Tony didn’t already make sure a’that when I ‘ _ whined _ ’ about the fit.” 

Natasha’s mouth twisted in mirth.  “Could’ve told you he doesn’t take kindly to crisiticism of his gifts.” 

“Guy’s thorough,” Scott said.  “I can appreciate that.” 

“Would _ you _ like to test your skills then?” Natasha gestured toward Gamora with a swing of her head. 

Scott’s eyes went wide, throat working, and a delightedly sharp smile spread over Gamora’s mouth.  “Um…” 

Then, unfortunately or fortunately, the doors to the gym slid open and Rocket’s voice boomed out from the odd darkness beyond, crackling above them.  

“ _ Attention _ , humies and losers alike!” With a great sigh, Gamora turned her focus beyond the doors, eyes narrowing at the movement beyond the shadows.  “You may think you know what’s coming but,  _ ohh _ \--” Rocket  _ cackled _ , stepping into the room, rubbing his paws together.  “-- you have  _ no _ idea.” 

“I  _ am _ Groot!” Groot popped up from behind his shoulder and Rocket’s ears drooped. 

“Man, stop stealin’ my thunder.” His voice echoed through the speakers overhead, and then he focused on everyone gathered there.  “It is my  _ divine _ pleasure--” 

“-- ain’t nuthin’ about you  _ divine _ , Rocket--” 

“-- shut you trap, Quill, I’m  _ talkin’ _ !” Rocket huffed.  “It is my pleasure to introduce to you, the terrible!  The horrifying!  The awe inspiring! The un _ -freakin’- _ stoppable:  _ ORION! _ ” 

From the depths of the shadows, something whirred to life.  First, the light at the center, glowing blue, then white, and then dangerously, venemously red.  There was a  _ click-hiss _ , then crimson eyes peered out at them, and sleek, black and gunmetal lines stepped out into the light, looking more powerful and daunting with every step closer.  

Graceful as much as it was deadly. 

Rocket was cackling again.  “Welcome to the Thunderdome!” 

Gamora was so busy staring that she hadn’t realized Peter had stepped up next to her until he hissed, gaze wide and excited.  “Ho-ly  _ sheeit _ .” 

The Orion stopped and stood steady, feet spread shoulder width apart, lines of red drawing up along the seams, practically glowing from within.  The entire suit was streamlined, tapering at the waist and cutting in tight around the body within, the usual flash and flare of the Iron Man suit gone.  In its place stood something far, far  _ better _ . 

“ _ Captain _ ,” Tony’s voice lilted out, ominous and distorted through the voice modulator.  “ _ Soldier.  I believe we had a playdate. _ ” 

Gamora felt her mouth go dry. 

Both Rogers and Barnes moved forward, tension shifting through them, fully geared as Steve brought his shield from where it had been resting off to the side.  Steve’s jaw flexed while Bucky shifted his left arm, metal hissing and whirring into place beneath the sturdy ballistics armor Stark had crafted for him.  Somewhere on Gamora’s right, Clint whistled. 

“Ready when you are,” Steve said. 

“FRIDAY?” Tony called out, battle lines being drawn, his shoulders rolling.  “Give daddy a beat to kick his friends’ asses to.” 

“ _ Of course, boss _ .” 

A deep, steady bass thrummed through the room.  From where he was sitting, braces off the side, Rhodey put his face in his hands and groaned. 

_ Ooo… Let’s go! _

And then it was on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Tony won.


	24. Chapter 23: Into Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: graphic violence, strong language, shitty cliffhangers

_ it was you _

The sky itself was heavy; grey matter swirling in lazy gusts, the silence oppressive as it was unsettling.  Like being trapped in a snow globe, shaken up, and tossed away to rot.  

Steve could taste ash on his tongue. 

_ breathless and torn _

He pushed up from the ground with a grunt, grey smearing across blue and dull red; crimson a vivid splash against his left side, gear torn wide open.  He stumbled forward, cowl gone and temple bleeding, and he barely caught himself on the edge of something that was once the brick interior of a building.  

There was a low ringing, something steady and grating, at the back of his head.  He could feel it vibrate between his molars.  

Beyond that: the screams. 

_ I could feel my eyes turning into dust  _

Steve fumbled for his communicator, shaking his head past the tilting  _ swim  _ of his vision and stumbling down what might’ve been a hallway.  “Soldier, come in.” 

Nothing but ringing.  

Steve squinted past the haze.  There was so much ash.  He was choking on it.  

“ _ Soldier _ ,” he rasped, swaying for a moment and bracing himself against a broken archway, door half hanging off of its hinges in front of him, and beyond that--

Beyond that was light.  

_ and two strangers _

Steve stumbled forward, shoving at the door, something weighty on the other side.  The ringing was louder now, practically a howling.  There was a shift, a pull and push of the wind around him as he leveraged the door open, teeth grit and muscles screaming, finally budging through. 

And before him, the crater.  

He had to hold up his arm to shield his eyes, magic or whatever otherworldly force the stones commanded,  _ whirled _ and  _ distorted  _ everything before him.  But at the center, between the heat and the flare of light, Steve could see the hulking figure of Thanos, draped in gold, his fist around Vision’s throat.  

“ _ Cap-- tain,”  _ a voice fizzled-popped over the comm and Steve pressed his fingers to his ear.  “ _ Cap-- ...gotta-- stahhh… -- ode stop.  Keep-- vvvryyywon back _ \--” 

“Tony?” Steve gasped, diving when a flash of purple lashed out, the deep rumbled of Thanos’ voice pressing down upon them all as he took shelter behind the debris.  “ _ Iron Man _ , come in!” 

A hand clapped onto Steve’s shoulder, and Steve twisted sharp, fist raised.  It was caught before it could land, Bucky peering up at him through a curtain of dark hair, breathless and sleeve torn, the silver of his arm reflecting the lights of the Infinity Stones.  His cheek was bloodied and Steve instantly reached for it.  

“M’good, Stevie.” Bucky brushed him away.  

Steve swallowed, bobbing his head.  In his ear, the voice rang again, more clear. 

“ _ Not-- naaa stop, Cap.  Gotta get in the-- ellppp Viz.”  _ Steve frowned, risking a glance over the edge, but at the center, Thanos was reaching up with the gauntlet, fingers prying at the gold stone at the center of Vision’s head.  “-- _ ode STOP, Cap.  Code STOP.  You know wahhh--”  _

For a moment, Steve moved to call out.  To tell him to  _ stand down, dammit, it’s too late _ .  At his side, Bucky was scowling, asking him something Steve was too deaf to hear, eyes on the vortex, on the horrifying scene of Thanos working the gem free from between Vision’s eyes.  

“--evie!” Bucky shoved at his shoulder, mindful even now of Steve’s gaping side.  “Stevie, what the  _ fuck _ is he talking about?” 

Steve didn’t think.  He moved, reached out and caught Bucky around his center, pulling him in tight and gritting his teeth,  _ knowing _ .  Knowing that if he could, Bucky would go for the crater, would go for Tony.  And Steve had made a promise. 

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, and they could both see it now, the sleek broken lines of the Orion tearing through the barrier, could hear Tony’s scream over the comms as he forced himself through.  “I’m sorry, Buck, I’m sorry.” 

He was deaf then, again, lost to the ringing.  Couldn’t hear what Bucky said, what curses Bucky spat, but he could feel him struggle and it only made Steve tighten his grip.  

In the vast swirl, the blind churn of light and dark and crackle of electricity, Steve could see Vision crumble.  He could see Thanos stand victorious over his body.  He could see Tony, snarling and face plate half ripped off, one of the Orion’s arms shredded and gone, leaving only bloodied skin; could see the grin of his teeth, red too, so terribly horribly red.  

The light at the center of him swelled.  The ringing in Steve’s ears shifted, turned over, restarted.  The purple haze settled and Thanos  _ laughed _ .  

“You think you can take me,  _ boy _ ?” 

And Tony.   _ Oh _ , Tony smiled-- a vicious, bitter thing-- and he was gripping the gauntlet as Thanos wielded it as if to destroy him, clinging at Thanos as if it didn’t matter if he could stay his fatal blow, clutching at him and grinning with that shark smile.  

“No,” Tony said.  “I think I can end you.” 

And from his chest, the gem from the Tesseract glowed blueblueblue _ white _ , and Bucky thrashed in Steve’s grip, calling out.  The low  _ whine _ shifted higher and higher and higher still, and it was only a moment, but Steve saw Thanos’ eyes widen in terror.  

_ two strangers _

And then they were gone. 

_ fading into dust _

* * *

It started with an explosion. 

The skies were clear, blue and sunny, hardly a cloud in sight.  Nothing poured down upon them.  No hell swarmed and blotted out the light.  The Miami streets were filled with music, with chatter, with the smells of bread and butter and fresh Cubanos.  

The beaches were heavy, abuzz with people.  Two girls giggled and waved at the man, shirt spread open and half hanging out of his car, as he called out to them.  

At a small cafe on the corner, Wanda sipped her tea and damned the humidity.  She was already sweating, perspiration along her hairline, down the small of her back, dark waves twisted up and away from her pale neck.  Even still, she hid a smile into her mug, watching as Vision tried to order off menu.  

Originally, being down in Florida with him had been rife with tension; not between them, but between them and the Nova Corps.  Wanda had been unsure of her footing, but had found it easily after the Xandarians had openly and earnestly praised her abilities and met her magic with curiosity coupled with skills of their own.  Soon, the small estate Tony had slapped together for them-- constructed with the best materials, state-of-the-art facilities, despite the small size-- had felt like a home away from home.  A vacation, even. 

Wanda should have known better. 

It started with an explosion, just down the street, a building buckling seemingly from within.  The screams would’ve given it away if the dust in the air hadn’t.  Wanda and Vision rushed to it, lingering close to one another, Wanda’s fingers half out and curled, the ghost of a touch around Vision’s wrist.  Wanda took care to clear the area, red swirling slow and dancing about, no fear now-- of herself or how others perceived her.    

While she worked on clearing the area, lifting debris, Vision helped the wounded away.  It seemed simple, even with the blare of sirens in the distance.  Just like any other day. 

Wanda should have known better. 

When they reached the center of the building, smoke cleared but moans still muffled and sending wisps of pain for Wanda to follow, Wanda nearly tripped into a small crater.  She faltered, Vision’s hand firm at her elbow to ease her back a step, and he cautioned her with a look as he took to the air and drifted down into the small indentation of the earth.  He paused somewhere above the ground, head tilted, and he reached out with careful fingers to touch something invisible.  

The moment he came into contact with it, alarms were blaring in Wanda’s head.  She called out to him, told him to stop, but it was too late.  Something shimmered and then buzzed, color blossoming almost as if under Vision’s touch alone, and then a body was uncurling and hissing from the smoke Vision’s touch revealed.  Wanda thought maybe it was an accident.  Maybe it was a creature crash landed.  Maybe it needed help. 

Wanda should have known better. 

When it stood, skin iridescent and purplish but gray in its decay, Wanda’s eyes widened in horror.  “Viz!” 

It curled its head back even as Vision stepped away, stone glowing at the center of his forehead, and it let out a curdling screech into the air.  

Just as suddenly as the sky was clear and blue, the sun was blotted out, as though as great cloud was looming overhead.  Wanda looked up and gasped out, hand moving to her mouth, knees going weak.  Vision was at her side in an instant, the Chitauri soldier dispatched and smoking in the crater.  

“We must go,” Vision said.  “We must warn the others.” 

It had been such a nice day.  Wanda stared up at a sky filled with metal, with small figures zipping down in swarms, at the groaning leviathan drifting closer and closer and burning bright around the edges as it finished breaching the atmosphere.  At all of the ones that would follow.  It had been such a nice day.

Wanda should have known better. 

* * *

Despite all of his planning, despite all of the maneuvering, despite every redundancy Tony had painstakingly worried over for the last half of a year, Thanos still caught them unawares.  Still had the drop on them.  

Tony should’ve expected it.  The tech out in deep space was leagues beyond what Tony had on hand, even if he was the brightest mind earth could offer.  The cloaking devices on the ships didn’t even blip on the radar until they unveiled themselves.  By then, it was too late, and their skies were filled with the first swarm.  

Worse: they were  _ everywhere _ .  

From the moment the attack began, they were losing.  Despite knowing, despite planning, they were  _ losing _ .  

FRIDAY monitored everything, kept Tony in the loop on each attack: New York, Miami, Cape Town, Rio, Cairo.  In Bangkok and Dacca, in Singapore and Melbourne, in Guatemala and San Salvador.  Bucharest.  St. Petersburg.  Lisbon.  Damascus. 

It was everything.  It was everywhere.  It was too much. 

The Milano rattled as it breached atmosphere.  Tony’s jaw clenched down, his fingers tight around the strut in the belly of the ship, his vision distant as he and FRIDAY powered what was left of the Iron Legion, clearing the streets and providing cover fire.  His connection wavered, but only for a moment, Rocket’s adaptations working wonders with his comms as they took to space.  

For a moment, the idea of being in open space made him sick.  His stomach rolled, and not even the chatter of voices over the comm system could settle him despite the respite it gave him, knowing that each voice he heard was one less body he’d have to find later.  

There was a directive out, to anybody who could hear it-- which was a lot, considering FRIDAY’s reach was as vast and consuming as JARVIS’ had been-- but it was hard to get non-combatants to safety when the entire world was under attack.  Tony closed his eyes for a moment, hope choking him, his thoughts on those left behind in New York, on those rushing to Florida, on the rest of the world left so open and vulnerable.  

For a moment, he stood there and hoped. 

He could hear the scatter of noise, communication threading back and forth.  He could hear the panic in Natasha’s usually calm voice, calling shots to those left in New York.  He could hear Steve trying to connect with Wanda and Vision, the Quinjet racing as fast as Clint could push it, headed toward Florida.  He could hear Fury, officially Not Dead, shouting orders as the dozen or so helicarriers to the the air all around the globe, shooting Chitauri out of the sky as they invaded.  He could even hear T’Challa, speaking with FRIDAY about the movements of his sojas, of his Doras, of his people as they spread out to help where they could.  

Then, Rocket’s comm cut through to Tony, overshadowing all else as Tony pulled his helmet up over his head.  The Orion locked into place with a hiss, Tony’s ears popping, and Rocket was yelling at him, giving him the thumbs-up, but Tony’s heart was racing as the Milano opened up and Tony fell into open space.

Turned out he didn’t need to worry about all of those built-ins anyway.  He’d hitched a ride with the Guardians the moment earth’s atmo was breached; safer than what he could do on his own, with a sky filled with enemies.  

There was a moment of raw vertigo.  Tony nearly vomited into his faceplate, but then FRIDAY’s voice was guiding him, his thrusters kicking in, momentarily more powerful than usual until he calculated the new capacity with the Tesseract powering the suit’s functions.  

Adrenaline kicked in within an instant.  There were Nova ships zipping around, light zipping across the dark of space, fire exploding out suddenly and then just as quickly evaporating into nothing-- halos lingering around debris as it drifted, weightless in the aftermath.  Tony made quick work of moving out and in between the ships, heading toward the Hive still off in the distance, looming and monstrous.  

Loki’s words rang in his head:  _ Thanos will be there _ .  

Behind him, the Milano zipped around, Loki aboard and waiting for Tony’s cue.  The Guardians moved out, supporting the Nova ships.  Tony glanced behind him briefly, his own nightmare staring right back as the earth was slowly, inevitably invaded.  He felt his stomach roll again, and then, of all things, nets of gold bloomed over multiple spots on the earth’s sphere.  Not enough to stop the army, but enough to slow it down.  

Jaw set, Tony looked away from earth and looked forward to the mothership. To the Hive.  And let Loki guide him. 

* * *

He was at the temple praying when hell rained down.  Wakanda herself was not struck, no beasts blighted her skies, but there were neighboring lands in danger.  The world was in danger. 

“Goddess,” T’Challa clutched a hand over his chest, his people safe despite the open, though reluctant, arms they’d offered to the dozens or so of Xandarian refugees, but his heart was consumed and heavy with fear at the reports he was hearing, at the mad scramble of the Avengers, at the destruction already raining upon them.  “Save us from what this world demands.  From what this evil demands of us.  Shield the righteous men, the thinkers, the fighters.  Shield us from the devil himself.  Oh goddess, save us.” 

“Chief,” Okoye placed a hand at his shoulder.  “It is time.” 

Pushing up from his knees, T’Challa donned his helm of Black Panther for the first time since his father’s passing outside of traditions.  The time for peace was over. 

* * *

“This plan will not succeed,” Gamora said and Peter’s knuckles went white against the controls. 

He was about to jump to Tony’s defense when Drax beat him to it.  “The Iron Man is indeed a powerful warrior.  Would you dare to doubt him?” 

Gamora grit her teeth where she was loading her weapon.  “He is a  _ child _ .  And no one sneaks up on Thanos.” 

Drax frowned.  “No child bares the scars of a warrior.” 

“No  _ warrior _ would go so  _ blindly _ to his--” 

The Milano shook as they took the brunt of enemy fire meant for a smaller Nova ship that darted behind them.  They all braced and Peter bared his teeth. 

“Would you all shut up and  _ focus _ ?” Peter snapped.  “I don’t know if you noticed or not, but we’re kinda in the middle of gettin’ our asses kicked!” 

“ _ Tell ‘em, Quill _ .” Rocket echoed over the comms, the sound of gunfire deafening behind him. 

“We don’t even have an entire Nova fleet.” Gamora insisted as she struggled up to the front, grip a vice on the seat behind Peter’s head.  “They could not hold him then, what makes you think they can  _ stop him _ now?” 

“They won’t,” came hissed from the back of the control room, Loki hunched over himself, eyes screwed shut in concentration.  “This is simply a distraction.” 

Drax nodded.  “A wise tactic when dealing with a swarm.” 

“A  _ stupid _ tactic when dealing with Thanos,” Gamora snarled.  “He will see right through it and you will get us all  _ killed _ .” 

Loki did not reply, pinching the bridge of his nose as the Milano trembled dangerously again.  Warning lights filled the cockpit with red.

An alert lit up Peter’s screens.  Shields were down to 58%.

“Shitshitshit,” Peter hissed, swerving them out of the line of fire.  “Rocket!” 

“ _ Yeah _ ?” 

“Gonna have to tag Drax in, I need your furry ass on repairs!” 

“ _ You got it, Star-Loser.  Head down here, Drax.”  _

Drax nodded once, firmly.  “I am on my way,” he said, and then departed as Gamora fumed, her fingers in tight fists at her sides. 

“This plan will not work,” she repeated, eyes for Loki now, even as the Milano shook and kiltered around the side of the massive Leviathan-- Rocket laying fire into its side as they zoomed by.  “You know this.” 

Finally, Loki opened his eyes, and there was a frightening crackle of energy around him.  “Stark will make it to the Hive.  He will enter it.  Once there, I will join him and aid him in defeating  _ your father _ .  Now, if you would kindly  _ shut your mouth _ , I will focus on guiding him to where he must go.” 

Gamora’s lips pressed thin.  There was another protest in her mouth, more doubt that none of them needed, but the Milano shook again.  Their shields dropped to below 47%.  

She turned instead, sliding into the co-pilot seat and strapping in.  “This will not work, Peter.” She told him. 

Peter grimaced, but cast a glance her way.  “Yeah.  But when do our plans ever work?” 

Lips pressed tight, Gamora tapped into the ship’s mainframe, focusing on the downed shields and transitioning power from other ports to bring them up until Rocket could work a bypass.  If her fingers trembled, Peter didn’t mention it.  

They were outnumbered.  Outnumbered and outmaneuvered.  Already, the Nova were reporting more losses than hits.  

“ _ Headed for the engine room, Quill.  Keep us moving; defensive, not offensive, gotta keep the power in the shields until I can reroute it.”  _ Rocket’s voice called out over the comms.  “ _ Drax’ll shoot down anythin’ that gets too close; Groot’s with him at the gun _ .” 

Peter let out a short breath, but did as he was told.  Drawing and dodging fire, threading through the swarm, the Milano edging forward only to drop back, swooping up only to plummet down.  Evasive maneuvers.  

Next to him, Gamora had their shields temporarily back up to 64%.  She let out a shaking breath, muttering something about how she should’ve taken one of the Nova ships, but Peter was too busy to tell her that it was a stupid idea.  If they died out here, it would be together, not apart.  

The Milano rattled again.  They could hear Rocket groan over the comms, spitting out curses at Peter’s driving, and their power dropped right back down to where it’d been.  

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Peter dropped down, down, down, until even Loki was voicing his alarm.  “Gotta keep us in one piece until Magic: the Gathering back there can get to Tony.  If that means running for a bit, it means running.” 

They dropped down below where the Hive’s swarm had clustered just past Terra’s moon.  There was a space station in utter destruction.  Peter thought he saw bodies floating in the black.  

Then, in the distance, Peter saw something else.  “What--?” 

_ Proximity Alert _ . 

“ _ The hell is that, Quill?”  _ Rocket growled. 

_ Incoming call. _

Peter nearly choked at the sight of Mantis’ beaming face, at the sight of Kraglin in the captain’s seat off to her right flank.  “Peter!” she greeted with a wave, antennae swaying.  

“What the hell--?” 

“Heard you were havin’ a bit a’trouble!” Kraglin cut in, and in the space in front of them, swarming up behind the Hive, ship after ship after ship began to appear in the jump spot.  “Captain woulda killed me if I didn’t try and save yer ass.” 

“Holy--” Peter’s face broke, practically in two with his broad smile, and he heard an echoing  _ whoop _ over the comms; Gamora’s fingers flew over the telepad, update sent out to anyone in broadcast distance on their frequency.  “Ravagers to the  _ fuckin _ ’ rescue!” 

Kraglin grinned.  “At yer service, Peter.” 

“Hit ‘em from the back, with all that you’ve got, and add support to the front if you can spare it.” Peter said.  “There’s a lot of them and not so many of us.” 

“You got it, kid.” 

Next to him, Gamora shifted in her seat.  “...Perhaps we aren’t so doomed.” 

Peter smiled. 

* * *

Lightning arced across the skies, static a haze through the air as Thor called the divine power of Mjolnir to his aid.  Even halfway across the city, slinging between the buildings, Peter could see the damage calling thunder down upon the Chitauri did.  The smoking craters that remained.  

The wind whipped around them, storm building in the distance, and Peter had to dodge the whipping wind of the helicopter overhead, evacuating civilians out and bringing soldiers in.  They payed him no mind as he webbed up to a building, crouched against the wall to watch it zip by.  When he spotted one of the Chitauri zooming past, one at the controls of its little hovercraft, another standing chained at the back and aiming to fire at the helicopter, Peter shot out a string of webbing.  

His aim was true, catching the Chitauri’s spear-like weapon, and Peter caught the end of the web and  _ yanked _ .  The countering forces of the hovercraft’s forward momentum and Peter’s own strength wrenched the Chitauri off of the back, chain snapping as it toppled down what must’ve been fifty stories with a screech. 

That certainly caught the other Chitauri’s attentions.  

Peter lept away with a curse, alien hot on his trail.  

He knew that he’d promised Tony he’d work only on helping people to safety, but he didn’t think it was his fault if, in doing so, he had to take a little affirmative action.  In his ear, a familiar droll caught his attention.  

“ _ Getting yourself in trouble, little spider _ ?” Natasha’s voice broadcasted into his suit’s systems, let in by the AI that ran the other processes of the suit’s mechanics when Peter was too busy to mind them.  

“Not exactly?” Peter swung around the edge of one of the taller buildings, cutting the corner tight and wincing at the explosion he heard rumble behind him.  “See?  No trouble.” 

“ _ If you’re not too busy, then, _ ” Natasha added, a grunt cutting in between her words, and Peter paused long enough to touch his fingers to the screen on his wrist, using Lottie to target in on Black Widow’s location.  “ _ I could use some ground support _ .” 

Peter perked instantly.  He knew that Tony and the others had left Natasha in charge up here, calling shots wherever she could, and if she was giving him permission to head straight into the fray, it was as good as Mr. Stark giving it.  

“On my way!” He called, springing off of the building and letting himself take a steep drop before slinging out another web and riding it through the streets.  

When he finally touched down with an extravagant little flip at her side, she was huddled behind a patrol car with a policeman who eyed Peter only long enough to suggest that, for once, NYPD wasn’t going to be putting up a fuss about a kid in a spider suit helping out.  Peter crouched down with her, goggles narrowing in as he practically vibrated, twitching at the ready.  

Natasha didn’t look his way, hand to her ear, muttering a number of locations into her comm unit.  Another rumble of thunder rolled over the heavens, lightning arcing down three streets over.  Peter thought he saw a glint of silver dodge between buildings, catching hints of War Machine as the gun on his shoulder mowed down Chitauri air raiders.  

“ Блядь,” Natasha spat.  “There’s a Leviathan coming down 72nd.” 

Peter pointed a finger that direction.  “Do you want me to--?” 

“Absolutely not,” Natasha finally glanced his way, cocking her weapon as the sound gunfire ceased for a moment, her and the police officer beside her standing and laying down fire while the others blockading the street reloaded.  “If Stark found out I even had you this close, he’d scalp me.” 

Peter tried not to pout.  “I can help.” 

“Yes,” Natasha nodded.  “Swing around the back of her, help Ant-Man bring up the rear before more land.” 

With a sharp salute, Peter stood and took off, looping around the streets in order to locate where exactly Ant-Man was.  It was when he saw Chitauri start tripping on nothing that he pinpointed it; goggles focusing in, Peter cast out web after web as the Chitauri soldiers toppled, sticking them to the cracked asphalt with precision as he landed between a group of the remaining soldiers bringing up the back of the army headed for Avengers Tower where Thor had landed to conduct his storm.  

A clicking purr was the only response he got to his appearance, which was honestly hard to quip back at, but Peter grinned anyway.  “You guys look a little lost.  Let me guess: tourists?” 

One of the Chitauri swung their weapon around, aiming for Peter, but he was already leaping to dodge it-- catching the barrel with another string of webbing and pulling it free.  Another tried to slice through the air with one of those spears, and Peter twisted to the side, rotating through the air and kicking another soldier to the ground as they snarled and clicked at him.  

“Hey!” Peter chirped, bringing the hilt of the gun down over the tops of one of their heads, knocking them down at two others were swept off of their feet again-- an invisible force Peter couldn’t be bothered to pinpoint at the moment-- and he squared off with another three soldiers.  “Nothing wrong with needing directions, guys.  Happy to help, but you’re looking a little peaky.  Might need to lay down for a while.” 

Almost as if it was planned, Peter dropped the gun and flung out webs with both hands, catching the two of the Chitauri by the legs and sweeping them down with a heavy  _ crack _ onto the ground just as Ant-Man enlarged out of nowhere and caught another around the neck in something that was probably supposed to be a sleeper hold.  Scott grunted as the Chitauri jerked him about and Peter tried not to laugh. 

“Little help!” Scott yelped.  “Little help!” 

Peter webbed the soldier’s feet to the ground, giving Scott enough leverage to knock it out.  They all slumped, chittered groans echoing in the air, a good two dozen out for the count.  

“Nice work, kid.” Scott released his mask for a moment, grin broad.  

“You too,” Peter rocked up onto his toes.  “Ants?”

“Resilient little guys,” Scott bobbed his head.  “You make those shooters yourself?” 

For a moment, they were lulled into being mutually impressed with each other despite previous interactions.  Then the groaning roar of the Leviathan rounding the corner behind them brought an end to anything lighthearted. 

“Shit,” Scott shut his mask.  “Widow, we got, like, a  _ huge _ problem headed down this way.” 

“ _ Can you stall until we finish these ones off _ ?” Peter heard her reply, his goggles widening so he could take in the area that they were nearly done clearing, catching the sight of the Chitauri that had managed to make it to Avengers Tower falling off as Thor’s lightning singed them all off of its metal bearings.

“Uh…” Scott faltered. 

Peter nudged him.  “We got this, dude.  You just gotta put your big boy pants on.” 

“My--” Scott jerked slightly.  “Oh!  Yeah, yes, yeah!  We got this, Widow!” 

“ _ Get it done _ ,” Natasha barked. 

Scott shuffled his feet a moment, the Leviathan looming closer.  “You, uh, might wanna take a step or two back, kid.” 

Peter nodded, already springing away.  “Good luck!” 

“I’ll need it!” Scott replied, hesitating for one second longer, before switching settings and pressing the trigger, body enlarging just as Peter swung out of range, his cackle of disbelief loud over the comms.  “ _ Come at me, worm thing _ .” 

Peter snorted. 

* * *

The hull of the Hive’s command center was thick.  Near impenetrable. 

Tony was never more grateful for the devious nature of technology in the hands of thieves than when, instead of wasting hours trying to muscle through to the inside, he spread four modified cubes Luis and Co. had mocked up against the pock marked metal and slipped through a field of violet without a sound or a notice, though he thumped down against the grating beneath his feet with a  _ clang _ when gravity tugged back down on his limbs.  He made sure the doorway sealed back behind him, lest someone notice a change in the ship’s integrity or the cubes faltered and let the environment within the ship to take a hit from the vacuum of space. 

In his suit, he was trembling.  He pressed forward through the dark, empty corridor anyways.

“I’ve breached the mothership,” he risked muttering to himself but didn’t open his comms, unwilling to give their enemy any more advantage than he already had. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he heard a voice and shuddered at the perceived intrusion.  “ _ You’re going the wrong way, Stark _ .”

Teeth gritting, Tony twisted about and let the suit guide him forward.  “Direct me, then.” 

“ _ Very well, _ ” Loki sounded more amused than anything, no doubt sensing every inch of Tony’s irritation at the feeling of something-- or  _ someone _ \-- else in his mind, despite the permission Tony’d given as hell rained down upon them.  “ _ Close your eyes.  Picture where you are clearly in your mind.”  _

Tony sighed but did as he was told.  The hallway seemed eerily empty. 

Then Tony was no longer alone.  Long fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled.  Tony followed, not blind in his trust, but grateful to have Loki aboard the ship with him. 

“Quickly,” Loki urged.  “We’ve not much time before he notices my presence.  The halls should be empty; the focus is on invasion, not defense.  But we should not let our guards down.” 

“Just get me to Thanos,” Tony said.  “I’ll take care of the rest.” 

* * *

Clint was worryingly silent on the flight down, pushing the jet to its limits.  Steve would’ve offered some words of reassurance if he’d thought it would do any good.  He knew Clint was worried about Wanda; Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t, but he knew that she could handle herself.  There was just no good way to relay that over to Clint-- not when Steve knew it wasn’t just Wanda, but leaving Nat back in New York and his family on the ranch. 

There was nothing good or easy about any of this. 

“Hey,” Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing Steve’s attentions away.  “We’ll get through this.” 

Across the hanger, still checking the sight on his rifle, Bucky snorted.  “Back off, birdbrain.  Comforting his punk ass is my job.” 

Sam’s nose wrinkled up.  “Gross.” 

The grin Bucky offered made some of the weight in Steve’s chest ease.  He shook his head; rueful. 

“Touch down in ten, mile outside of Vision’s last location.” Clint called back.  “Game plan?” 

Jaw tightening, Steve didn’t look away from Bucky.  “They’re targeting one of our own, but there are still civilians we need to get out of there.  Hawkeye, Falcon, focus on evac and defense with the Nova.  Soldier, you and me are gonna locate Vision and keep them off his back.  You’ve got a gun; use it.” 

Bucky nodded once, firm.  “You got it, Captain.”

“Scarlet Witch and Vision’s comms are down, but we know they’ll stick together.  We find Vision, we find Scarlet Witch, and vice versa.  Look for the trails and call it out.” Steve added.  “We do  _ not  _ let them get Vision.  Understood?” 

The three of them nodded, the ship jostling as Clint began bringing her down. 

“Good,” Steve stood, pulling the shield close, feeling more steady with it secured against his back.  “And gentlemen?  Stay alive.” 

* * *

For a millennia, before mortals or their plights had ever been conceived, the only thing the Gods had to fear were each other.  The Old Ones were long gone, dust and starlight and memories of supernova.  Wars were fought, bloody and pointless, over their remains.  Even after the treaties were won, after the All-Father hung himself from Yggdrasil’s branches to learn the languages of all the universe, after the realms found relative peace between the fires of Muspelheim and the frigid nothing of Niflheim before there were souls to roam her icy plans, there was no blight on the Gods’ perfection. 

_ Gunungagap _ , the Gods had called it. 

_ Boring _ , Loki had always thought, right up until he fell between the cracks of their worlds and into the waiting hands of a threat once thought long dead. 

It was then that he had known what the Gods should have been fighting all this time.  What they should have feared. 

Being back in Thanos’ domain-- slapdash and travel worn as it was-- had Loki on edge.  His jaw was set as he lead Tony through the Hive’s maze of halls, and his tension must have been apparent if Stark’s unusual quiet was anything to go by. 

They had managed to get beyond the vessel’s outer halls and into the depths where the Chitauri workers slumbered, inert, until enough of them fell on Midgard to be woken for a swarm renewed.  Loki’d heard Tony curse, even though the thick layers of metal, at the hundreds upon hundreds of them when they’d entered the chamber.  The suit looked striking in the violet glow around them, tubing and drips keeping Thanos’ army alive enough to be sacrificed for his cause.  But even the severe expression on the faceplate did nothing to hide the fear, rank and thick, seeping from the both of them. 

Proceeding as silently as they could, Loki and Tony worked their way through the vault.  From his periphery, he could see Stark taking scans and storing them with an interactive screen on the wrist of a gauntlet, but was wise enough not to attempt to broadcast what they’d found to his teammates. 

Within the walls of the Hive, just their presence was enough to alert Thanos, even with Stark’s AI quietly and systematically working through the ship’s innerworkings like the deadliest kind of virus-- applied at the first consol they came across and adapting as she went, clearing their way by violently hacking whatever surveillance systems there were in whatever way she could, and reporting back to Tony silently through the suit’s internal systems.  Loki knew that, if Thanos was not already aware of them, he would be. 

Very soon. 

“ _ Wait _ ,” Tony hissed, voice hushed, even though the modulator. 

The line of Loki’s shoulders drew tight. 

His hand went to his waist, for the blades there, when he spotted something lift and detach from Tony’s armor.  He looked for whatever threat there might be, finding none, and watched as Tony plucked the device up, set a timer, and set it at their feet where they stood, dead center of the vault filled with Chitauri. 

At Loki’s raised brow, Tony spread his hands out from the center of his chest and wiggled his fingers.   _ A bomb _ , Loki realized and glanced down at his boots to see the vague blue glow of it.   _ A big one _ . 

Without another word, they carried on forward. 

Loki had never been one for hope.  Not even when he’d been naive and young.  He’d always been too cynical.  His heart too  _ cold _ , as it turned out. 

But here,  _ now _ , with Stark able and ready at his side, Loki felt some amount of hope burn in his chest-- for success, for revenge, for retribution. 

It lasted all of five seconds. 

“ _ \--sscrch _ ,” a crackle sounded within Stark’s helmet, and-- most horrifyingly-- overhead just as the doors to the vault snapped shut behind them, locking them in the chamber just before the inner sanctum of the ship.  “-- _ oss, waayyy-- _ ” 

“Stark.” 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Tony spat, tapping frantically at the screen on his wrist as Loki finally drew two blades with a graceful twirl.  “Shit, FRI, get out now.  Now!”

FRIDAY’s voice shorted, half distorted above their heads, but ringing clear in the comms.  “ _ \--orry, Boss!  Got caught in a firewall.  I’ll fry if-- _ ” 

“Back off.  Update me.” 

“ _ I’m afraid I triggered a protective measure, sir.”   _ FRIDAY said, frantic.  “ _ And I’m caught trying-- Earth is not fairing well, sir _ .” 

As she spoke, the ceiling itself opened above their heads, a half dozen tubes lowering down, wide enough to hold a reasonably sized person within them.  Loki bared his teeth, feeling as half mad as he looked. 

An alert flared on the panel of the door behind them.  Loki spat one curse after the other, gaze falling to Tony. 

“What _ \-- _ ?” 

“They’ve woken,” Loki said.  “And they are not the only ones.” 

Fully lowered, one of the cylinders hissed open, milky fluid pouring out in a rush and onto the grated floor.  Within it, there was a man that looked more machine than organic, dark skin in contrast with the metal of his body. 

“Who _ \-- _ ?” 

“Korath,” Loki said.  “One of Thanos’ children.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Quite.” 

“Listen _ \-- _ ” Tony snapped up the faceplate and Loki blinked at the surprising show of desperation on the man’s face.  “Loki, I need you back on planet.  There’s-- It’s not good--” 

“If you think you can handle Thanos’ creations  _ alone _ , you are mistaken--” 

“They’re  _ failing _ !  It’s too much!  FRI just-- We need-- We need  _ something _ to work in our favor--” 

And just as suredly as there were one of Loki there, there were two.  Tony almost choked, and any other time, Loki would’ve been pleased.

Before them, Korath whirred to life. 

“Have it your way.”  Loki said.  “I will aide Midgard, but I will not leave you here to die in the interim.”

“Uh,” Tony blinked.  “Thanks.” 

“You are welcome,” Loki smiled.  “Shall we?” 

“ _ Asgardian _ ,” Korath yanked out the tubing whatever pale biofluid Thanos had been dumping into him, and Tony winced in sympathy as a heavy boot met the floor, Korath’s right hand working into a weapon in between one second and the next.  “You shall suffer for your betrayal.” 

The shot he lot he loosed on them  _ sizzled _ with heat.  They were both quick to clear out of the way, but the fire power behind it sent shocks quelling through the chamber, the remaining tubes  _ humming _ as vibrations sung along the reinforced glass. 

“Bit melodramatic,” Tony snapped the faceplate back down, repulsors already flaring to life.  “Isn’t he?” 

“Stark,” Loki snarled, the other already moving for enough cover to create a portal sturdy enough to get him from there and back to Midgard.  “If the other Chitauri are loosed--” 

“Already on it, Dasher.” Tony spread his hand open, firing a blast at their current attacker and catching him by the shoulder, knocking him back into his own biotank.  “My girl FRIDAY?” 

“ _ Yes, boss _ ?” 

"Blow it.” 

The last thing part of Loki remembered of the Hive was the quaking blast that threatened to consume half of the ship, a swirling vortex of green closing shut sharply behind him as he stumbled out and into the musty library of the inner sanctum.  The next thing was the band of light that brought him to his knees. 

Showing his teeth in the mockery of a smile, Loki peered up at his captor.  “Strange.” 

“Odinson,” he greeted mildly, cape a flutter over his shoulders; he was bleeding from a gash somewhere high in his hairline.  “How can I help you?”

“Oh, no.” Loki grinned.  “It’s really how I can help  _ you _ .” 

* * *

“Fucking--  _ what the hell _ ?” Peter jerked at the controls, dodging a blast of debris.  “What was that?” 

Gamora’s fingers were flying over one of the panels, her face set into a grim line.  “Stark.  He blew up part of the Hive.” 

“He-- He  _ blew it up _ ?” Peter’s voice pitched higher. 

Over the comms, they heard Rocket cackle in delight.   _ “My kinda guy.  Quill, what’s our, uh, policy on kidnappin’ Terrans _ ?” 

“ _ No, Rocket _ .” Both Gamora and Peter replied, sharing a look before focusing on the tasks at hand.  

“ _ Oh, c’mon!  We could just have Mantis give ‘im a little lullaby and be on our-- _ ” 

“No!” Peter snapped.  “Now, get my engine fixed, I need you up at controls!” 

* * *

Hellfire rained down upon them now.  Wakanda was not safe, not now, and the streets ran with his people’s blood. 

His country had always been composed of warriors, built strong from fighting each other and fighting to keep the world away from the sacred soil of their home.  Fighting to protect the  _ world _ , however, against creatures hailing down upon them, was a battle his country had never been trained to handle. 

The different tribes all had their strengths, but they also had their weaknesses.  Watching them fall prey to those weaknesses and new ones they had been unaware of nearly brought T’Challa to his knees, even as his claws dripped violet and red, as Shuri blasted screeching beasts away at his side, as Okoye sliced them open from hip to sternum at his flank.  If they were both particularly vicious after one of the Dora had fallen taking a hit for T’Challa, he would not point it out.  He did not have the time to anyway. 

Just as it seemed they had a foothold, as the Chitauri bodies outnumbered their own, the sky broke open again and more ships came.  One wave, larger than the last, again and again.

They braced themselves for it now, even as one of their ships zipped by overhead.  T’Challa could overhear Kali calling out coordinates through their comms, their beads useless this far from the border.  In one moment, T’Challa was waiting for the strike to fall again like it had before, eyes on clear skies blotted only by alien ships and the immense breadth of one of the helicarriers sending out aerial support.  In the next, T’Challa was removing his mark, staring with a wide gaze at a halo of green, green,  _ green _ spreading across the heavens. 

Shuri pressed in close, guns whirring down, blood on her brow.  “What in the Gods?” 

Something in T’Challa swelled.  “A shield.” 

They saw as the invading ships struck against it.  Saw as they fried, as they burned out on impact.  

“It’s a shield.” 

* * *

“Whoa!  What the hell?” 

Living in New York, being a superhero, Peter saw a lot of weird, well,  _ stuff _ .  He’d always sort of thought that it was the charm.  Or part of it.  Or something. 

Battling aliens and giant worms were par for the coarse.  Even very large, very bright beams of light shooting from the tops of buildings were pretty average-- more likely some socialite showing off than an actual threat. But Peter had to stop, clinging to the edge of a building, when the viridian light struck up from a building on the streets of historic downtown relics and townhomes, going on forever before reaching some precipice, and then blooming out and connecting with edges that were unseen. 

His goggles narrowed in on the beam and then followed it up, up, up until it disappeared into the clouds.  Just as he was pressing a finger to his ear, there was a deep  _ pulse _ , like the earth settling-- and then the sky was covered in green.  Like a giant net, cast out further than the eye could see, and brighter than the eerie purple glow of the Chitauri hord. 

“You guys seein’ this?” Peter asked. 

“ _ War Machine, Thor, report _ .” Natasha’s voice came back, clipped.  

“ _ Tis magic! _ ” Thor barked back, laughing from the top of whatever skyscraper he was lighting up.   _ “Tis wondrous, old magic _ !” 

“ _ War Machine _ ?” 

“ _ I am up close and personal with this shit and it’s looking pretty damn magical. _ ” Rhodey’s voice crackled back.  “ _ Systems not picking up an end to it either; I’m reaching out to Danvers now. _ ” 

“Uhh… I’ve got eyes on a starting point if you, um--” 

“ _ Don’t even think about it, Spider-man _ .” 

“Too late?” Peter said as he swung down between some of the older buildings, touching down in an alley.

He heard Natasha spit out a curse in Russian before something prickled at the back of his neck, and he twisted around, flinging himself back up against the brick of a wall as someone sent a Chitauri body flying back right where he’d been standing. 

“Whoa,” he breathed, optics wide, gaze flitting over to the woman standing at the mouth of the alley as she spat to the side and wiped her mouth against the back of a hand, dark hair dusted in debris.  

“Anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?” she asked. 

“Um, yeah, right.  Sorry.” Peter hopped down, stumbling to follow after her as she twisted on a heel and took off down the sidewalk.  “Hey, um-- Wait!  Ma’am!” 

“God, don’t call me ma’am,” she drolled, giving him a dry look over her shoulder.  “Don’t you have an elsewhere to be?” 

Peter glanced to the sky, to the webbing of green above them, and then when he looked back to the stranger he faltered to a hard stop and gaped as he watched her lift up the end of a car.  For a moment, he was at a loss as to what she was doing, but then he saw her wrench the end bumper off and swing it-- right into the chests of another two foot soldiers, with another force to drop them without another move.  

“ _ Whoa _ .” 

She huffed something that might’ve been a laugh.  “You say that an awful lot, kid.  You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help?” 

Peter scrambled into movement.  “Helping.  Definitely helping.  I’m, uh-- I’m Spider-man, by the way.  And you?” 

“Just call me Jessica and help me clear out the rest of this street.” 

“Yeah.  Okay, yeah, definitely.” 

* * *

“Wong,” Strange grunted, hands trembling as Loki looked on, bracing the spell with the Eye Agamotto hanging heavy around his neck.  “Why did we not--?” 

“Some spells are too old to remember,” Wong muttered his reply, and there was sweat dripping down his temple, the sanctuary rumbling around them in near ruins.  “Be grateful that we have it now.” 

“Yes,” Strange nodded, lips thin.  “But how long will it last?” 

* * *

When Tony came to, it was to FRIDAY blaring alerts in his helmet.  Everything was red, her voice high with what could be perceived as concern, and he only shook himself free when he heard Loki’s voice over the shrill alarms that had filled the ship.

“-- _ ark!  Wake up! _ ” Loki snarled, jerking at Tony’s shoulder, and Tony winced when he tried to shake his head to clear it.  “Get  _ up _ , you  _ useless mortal _ , Thanos is--” 

“ _ Boss, you blew half the ship, the thrusters are out and there’s a countdown for a self destruct.  You need to flee. _ ” FRIDAY told him in no uncertain terms, but there was the faintest hint of pride in there behind all of the worry.  “ _ The remaining Chitauri soldiers are deactivated; only the remaining wave and the core remains active, sir. _ ” 

“Status--” Tony gasped, vision swimming, and pain lanced up from his right arm.  When he looked, he saw one of the cryotubes had fallen and shattered against him in the explosion, the glass thick and strong enough to have spliced through a separation of plates in the armor.  “Status update, FRI.” 

“ _ Multiple contusions-- _ ” 

“We do not have  _ time _ for this,” Loki hissed, trying to dig Tony free of the debris that had knocked them both out, though Tony was happy to see that Korath had been impaled on one of the jutting support beams and appeared to be glitching where he hung, fluid like water gushing out from behind him-- the remaining cryotube’s fluid, Tony realized distantly.  “Thanos is on his way, Stark.  He’s--” 

“ _ \--sir, you must engage the thrusters and free yourself or risk loss of the gauntlet functionality.  You have a concussion and-- _ ” 

“Not me,” Tony rasped, but did as she said, waving Loki back as he fired off a blast, the rest of the tube impaling his arm shattering around them, and Tony grit his teeth to bite back a shout as the repulsor whined down.  “Status report, Earth.  Avengers.” 

Loki was at his side in a moment, careful of the glass still jutting from Tony’s bicep as he helped him to his feet, fluid up to their ankles as they stumbled upright.  His fingers hovered at the point of impact, and Tony gave one jerking nod.  His suit couldn’t deploy any internal aide unless the foreign object was removed.  

With a tight expression, Loki lit his fingers in green and Tony watched briefly as the light wound its way around the shard before looking away.  In his helm, FRIDAY lit the screens up with updates on vitals-- Barton was down with a broken arm, Natasha had sustained a hit to the abdomen, Rhodey’s thrusters were down to 37%, T’Challa was reporting a number of fatalities, as were Fury and Hill and Danvers-- and then she placed an image tagged from the Milano’s systems of the Nova and a number of unknown ships blowing Chitauri out of space with the earth wrapped in green. 

“Oh, look at--  _ ah, fuck _ !” Tony jerked away as Loki discarded the glass to the floor, rolling his eyes when Tony spat another curse as FRIDAY made quick work of sealing the wound with an internalized foam. 

“Yes, it’s very pretty,  _ let’s move _ .” 

“Yeah, okay, I get it, you aren’t all that hot about Barney rocking up on us, but aren’t you even the least bit excited that we’re--” 

Tony didn’t see the blow coming.  Loki didn’t see the blow coming.  

In their distraction, trying to get Tony upright, they’d missed one of the cryotubes sluicing open.  They missed the woman-- the cyborg?-- climbing out, pulling the weaponized arm free from Korath’s twitching body, and unloading a round into the pair of them.  

“Asgardian rat,” she hissed, cocking the weapon again and aiming.  “Stand in my way and I will end you.” 

“Nebula,” Loki greeted, lips bloody, smile wide.  “Lovely to see you on your feet again.  Those are  _ your _ feet, are they not?  Or did daddy replace those too?” 

Nebula snarled, still dripping with milky fluid, but she unloaded the next round into the control panel above Loki’s head.  He ducked, sparks flying over them and dying out in the steadily climbing water around them.  

She marched through, boots falling heavy, and snatched him up by the coat to toss him aside with a  _ splash _ .  Off to the right of the door, Tony wobbled onto his own feet once more and the repulsors whirred in warning. 

“Listen, lady.  I promised your sister I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head, but considering you don’t have any, if you get between me and taking out daddy dearest, I will blow a hole right through you.” Tony said, jaw set, and the suit’s eyes burned red in the flashing lights of the chamber. 

Nebula faltered, looking first at Tony and then at where Loki was pushing himself back up, drenched and scowling.  “My sister?” 

“Gamora?  Pretty little green slip of thing?  Can kill you with the right look?” 

Nebula leveled her gun at Tony.  “Where is she?” 

“Um, outside.  Blowing holes through an army.”

“You’re with her?” Nebula frowned.  “You’re… a Guardian?” 

“Not quite,” Tony’s faceplate snapped up, revealing the blood running down his very human face, and Nebula tilted her head.  “But we’re fighting on the same side.  Are you?” 

Nebula hesitated for one moment longer and then lowered her weapon.  “I came back to kill my father.  He wasn’t exactly fond of that plan.” 

Tony spared a glance down at Loki, whose eyes had narrowed on Nebula, and he gave the smallest nod.  She wasn’t lying. 

“Looks like we’re batting for the same team,” Tony nodded and lowered his repulsors, gesturing toward the door.  “Lead the way, Smurfette.” 

“I do not know what that means,” Nebula told him, but did not hesitate wrenching the door open.  

Faceplate sliding back into place, Tony flanked her.  Behind him, Loki followed suit, shoulders practically up to his ears.  For a moment, Tony was worried that the hunted look on his face would send him disappearing into another one of those portals, but when he met Tony’s eyes through the helmet and held it, Tony’s fear disappeared. 

Together, they headed into the core of the Hive.

He didn’t know if they would make it out together on the other side, but in the big scheme of things, he didn’t think it mattered. 

* * *

Steve remembered what it was like, fresh off the ice and aliens raining down, that first time Loki opened up a portal over the heart of New York.  He was exhausted, then.  Took too many risks trying to save as many people as he could.  Pushed himself to the brink and back again, just trying to fight for as long and hard as he could. 

This was worse.  

He felt pulled in one direction too many.  Worried about his team, worried about Bucky, worried about the wailing children and crying mothers and terrified civilians still running from the swarm of Chitauri still prowling through the streets.  He was already drenched in sweat and ash.  His right hand kept cramping up, he was clenching down on the edge of the shield so hard.  

At his side, Bucky was reloading the clip of his gun with deft fingers, resting back against Steve’s shoulder as they took cover behind the corner of a building that was still burning.  His face was set, hard and severe, and Steve hated seeing him like that almost more than he hated all of the destruction around them. 

Pressing his fingers to his ear, he checked in with Sam and bit back a curse when he heard:  _ Clint’s down _ . 

“Gotta find Maximoff and Vision,” Bucky grunted at his side.  “Think whatever that is will hold long enough for that?” 

Bucky gestured upward to the shimmer of green.

Steve let out a tight breath, shoulders rolling.  “We can hope.  Ready?” 

Cocking his gun, Bucky cast a dry look his way, and Steve couldn’t help but grin.  

“Yeah, alright.  Let’s move.” 

* * *

Tony wasn’t sure what he was expecting when they finally made it to the core of the ship.  A throne, perhaps.  Maybe an army.  

An empty room filled with violet light from a control panel was not it. 

“Where the hell--?” 

The light of the control board’s dash flared brighter, brighter, then nearly white with its intensity, color bursting out in a violent streak of purple and black and the static crackle of electricity.  Tony grunted when Loki’s body slammed into his side, shoving him just beyond the swell of light, where it still caught them at the border and singed them at the edges.  He heard Nebula spit out a curse, heard a ringing in his head, and felt a tight pull in his chest.  

Standing before them, a miasma of purple churning around him, was who Tony imagined to be Thanos.  He was tall, taller than he’d expected, and broader than that.  Pure muscle, unrestricted and unrelenting, covered from head to toe in gold.  Worse, he was smiling. 

Worse than even that, he was wearing a gauntlet, the Power Stone settled in to the first knuckle, pulsing and humming and  _ calling _ to the own Stone nestled into the confines of his suit.  

Nebula charged him blindly, shouting her rage; clumsy with it.  Her weapon did nothing against him, even as she unloaded it directly at his chest, and when it ran out, she tried to use it to spear Thanos in the side.  He caught it with a big, meaty hand, wrenching it away from her like someone would a toy, and brought his other up, backhanding her in an easy swoop that sent her flying off of her feet and crashing into what looked like columns of hard drives lining the far side of the room. 

“Stark,” Loki hissed, pulling at him, pulling him  _ away _ from where Thanos was stalking after where he’d thrown Nebula.  “ _ Stark _ \--” 

“My darling daughter,” Thanos breathed, voice low and weary.  “Always such a disappointment.  No matter how many ways I put you back together.”

He picked her up by neck, big fingers squeezing at her jaw until Tony and Loki heard something metallic  _ click _ out of place, and they heard her muffled scream as she clawed at his arm.  

“This time, however, you did exactly as I needed.” Thanos hummed, and then his eyes fell to them, as Tony aimed his repulsors and as Loki fell back to his flank, hands shaking and knuckles white around the bo staff he seemed to pull from nothing but air.  “You brought me the sorcerer and his little friend.”

“Put her down,” Tony said.

Thanos’ smile only grew wider.  His grip tighter.  

They could hear the groaning of metal. 

Tony took a shuddering breath, a step forward, and he watched in his periphery as FRIDAY started bypassing the arc reactor and began to rout power directly from the Stone housed behind it.  “Put her down, or I go nuclear and blow us all out into deadspace.” 

Thanos lifted a brow.  “Found yourself a martyr, did you, Odinson?” 

“ _ Hey _ !” Tony snarled, firing off a warning burst that just grazed Thanos’ shoulder, scorching the gold of his armor, and destroying the hard drives behind him-- metal melting and deforming with an eerie moaning whir.  “Listen up, Midas, because you’ve got one more chance before I blow you into the next nearest star.  Let. Her.  _ Go _ .” 

Thanos dropped Nebula with a sneer, standing to his full height as he regarded Tony anew.  “If you weren’t a mortal under that fine mask, you might make a good toy.  Unfortunately for you, it appears you are standing in the way of me and what I want,  _ boy _ .” 

“Oh, yeah?  What’s that?  You and world domination?  All the collectable cereal box toys to complete your Mega Glove?  Being an asshole?” 

“No,” Thanos grinned with all his teeth and Tony felt a chill run down his spine as Thanos stared steadily at where Loki had backed up a step.  “Me and my exit.” 

An alert flashed across the screen, FRIDAY’s voice high with urgency.  “ _ Sir, the remaining thrusters online have diverted all power inward.  He’s going to blow the ship and anything within the explosion radius!”  _

“Fuck, alert the Guardians--” 

For a bulky creature, Thanos moved much more swiftly than Tony would’ve expected.  

Tony tried to jerk back, thrusters firing off, but he couldn’t get high enough in the dome shaped core in order to get away unscathed.  Thanos caught him by the ankle and yanked, pulling him right out of the air and tossing him across the room like he was nothing.  He hit the control panel hard, concaving it inward, metal and wiring jutting and slicing between plates to the space tight material beneath and the flesh beneath that.  He heard FRIDAY’s shrill concern over the pounding in his ears.  The Guardians were alerted, at least.  That was something. 

The Mad Titan payed him no mind.  Thanos stalked forward, boots thundering, aiming for where Loki stood ready and snarling.  

The control panel had warped on impact.  It wrapped around Tony’s suit, his hips caught, and the already damaged right arm plates separating further from the shoulder piece.  Tony could feel something pressing dangerously just beneath his ribs around his lumbar, could feel the soft shock of livewires snapping against his bicep, and he grit out FRIDAY’s name as he tried to pull himself free while Thanos unleashed blow after blow upon Loki. 

“ _ Boss, I can’t get the detach functions to run,”  _ FRIDAY said, and Tony glanced away from where Loki was defending off Thanos’ fists with swift perry after perry.   _ “The plates falter halfway through.”  _

He didn’t have to look long to see what she was talking about.  The plates of the right arm were contracting out and then sputtering to close shut again every five seconds or so.  Trying to release his arm before the warped metal of the suit could do damage to the man beneath it, as protocols required, but the wiring had fried somewhere-- or more likely severed-- and the command wasn’t able to finish processing.  Worse, it was caught up in the mangled mess of the control panel, clicking and whirring dangerously as Tony kept trying to pull free as Thanos knocked Loki’s staff away.  

Spitting out one curse right after the other, Tony wrenched what he could of himself free, firing away at the plating of the console until it gave way to free all but his right arm.  He watched as the plates shifted again, opening just enough for him to see the flight suit material torn beneath, only to  _ clickclick _ stutter and close again. 

Across the core control room, Loki was still flyting.  Thanos had gotten a few good blows in, but Loki had gotten even less, playing defensive instead of offensive.  Loki was bleeding, Tony realized, and looking a little bluer around the hands as he conjured flame and manipulated whatever he could around him to keep Thanos from reaching distance.  Nebula was still crumbled by the hard drives, jaw at an eerie angle. 

It wouldn’t last long. 

“FRI, release the entire arm structure.  Shoulder downward.” 

“ _ Boss, the command isn’t going through.  Overrides aren’t working, even with the nanochip implants. _ ” 

“Time the release pattern,” Tony said, fingers flexing, and he knew it would be painful, what he was about to do.  Knew that it would leave him vulnerable if he tried to leave the ship the same way him came.  Knew it would freeze the limb off before he could even worry about the tissue damage of scraping it out of a broken gauntlet.  “FRI?” 

“ _ There’s 1.08 seconds where it is at its widest before it shuts down again, sir.  Stats are up. _ ” 

“Tell me when,” Tony muttered, a slot opening over the back of the left gauntlet, the laser burning just enough to fry through the layers attached the metal sleeve to his right shoulder.

“ _ Now! _ ” 

Flinching forward, Tony forced his bicep, his forearm, his hand through the space between unforgiving metal plating.  They shredded into the suit beneath first, then tore into the flesh of his upper arm and nearly stripped his wrist and his palm.  It seared through him, the shock of pain, and he felt something pull and tear just above the elbow joint beneath the skin.  Though no one could see it, Tony squeezed his eyes shut, baring his teeth through a guttural shout. 

The noise was a mistake. It was enough to distract Loki, enough for him to take his eyes off of Thanos. It was a mistake. 

Arm burning, shoulder to fingers, Tony watched in horror as Thanos finally got his hands on Loki.  He took him by the front of his armor, then grasped his face with one large mit and  _ squeezed _ . 

Loki flailed, clawing at Thanos as the Titan laughed.  “Oh, little prince.  Even with all your effort, with all your skill, you can’t even  _ touch _ me.  Now… you  _ will _ do what I need of you, or you  _ will _ die here.” 

“Hey, Grimace!” Tony snarled, routing power through to the remaining gauntlet, doubling its output, and relishing in the low, dangerous whine that sang through the air as Thanos glanced his way.  “Dodge this.”

The blast hit him square in the shoulder. Thanos dropped Loki to stumble back.  Advancing, Tony fired again, sending Thanos back another step, grimacing with his big teeth on display as the heat of the blasts burned his gilded armor red.

Tony fired again. He thought he could smell flesh burning.

“ _ Boss _ !” FRIDAY chimed, frantic. “ _ Implosion is imminent! _ ” 

“Loki,” Tony reached down, fumbling with bloodied fingers and tossing him the discarded staff, as Loki staggered to his feet, as Tony fired off another round, catching Thanos under the jaw.  “Get Nebula and get gone.” 

“ _ Boss _ \--!” 

“Stark--”

“Go!”

He didn’t watch to make sure, eyes on Thanos, the targeting system locked in on him as he held up the gloved hand to block another of Tony’s shots. 

Behind Tony, there was that shimmering green from before.  Thanos growled, snarling like a beast, and charged. 

Tony wasn’t quick enough. Not against the Mad Titan. Not while quickly, quietly going into shock beneath all of the adrenaline. 

He blocked-- or he tried to-- the fist that came down on him.  Knocking into him, throwing him off balance, catching at his armored wrist and clamping down on it until the light dimmed in the repulsor.  Firing up a boot, he tried to push off from where Thanos towered, locking Tony’s remaining gauntlet in a vice of large fingers, and Tony fired it directly into his knee. 

He nearly pulled free, but Thanos caught him around the thigh.  With a sudden  _ pulse  _ from the Stone in his glove, like Thanos was tired of playing, Thanos shocked the suit’s systems into haywire.  Tony heard more than he saw the impact of Loki and Nebula being flung away from the half-opened portal. 

It sizzled out of existence as Thanos wrenched Tony around, suit locking up around him, and then flung him to the ground. Grunting, Tony moved to push up, but Thanos stepped down, boot landing square over Tony’s helmet.  Then, slowly, he pressed his weight into it.

“ _ B-ahhsssssss _ …!” FRIDAY’s voice cracked into near nonexistence; the HUD too damaged under the growing growing  _ growing _ pressure for the comms to keep working; the helmet beginning to buckle; the faceplate cracking. 

Tony  _ screamed _ . 

“Enough!” Loki shouted, and Tony could barely see him through the glitching interface.  “Enough.  I will take you where you want.” 

“Yes,” Thanos gave one last press, hard enough for spots to swim in Tony’s eyes, for his body to go limp, before stepping off. “You will.” 

“Loki,” Tony rasped, temples pounding, but Loki couldn’t hear him through the dead mask.  “ _ Don’t _ .  Loki, don’t.” 

“No tricks, Silvertongue.” Thanos said, taking Loki by the scruff.  “Take me to the Mind Stone.” 

“Don’t!” Tony’s fingers barely twitched, but he grit his teeth and forced himself into motion, scrambling for the releases on the helmet.  “Loki, no!” 

By the time Tony wrenched the fractured piece of his faceplate off-- the helmet too damaged to come free on its own, vision half filled with a stuttering interface and swimming-- the portal was open again.  By the time he was shoving up onto his hands and knees, trembling, they were stepping through.  By the time Tony forced the suit into action, boots firing up, body lurching forward to scoop up Nebula, the portal was already beginning to close behind them. 

By the time Tony got them through to the other side, magic threatening to swallow them up somewhere in the middle, it was too late. 

* * *

The alert flashed, blinking rapidly over one screen, and then another, and then another, until everyone of them had lit up with red.  FRIDAY flooded the ally ships with warnings, setting off an alarm in the Milano that pitched so high, Rocket flinched. 

Cursing, he scrambled at the screens.  “Quill!  Get us out of proximity, you big, dumb idiot!” 

“Hold tight!” 

Peter’s fingers clenched over the controls.  The crew braced themselves, and the Milano rolled.  

Though the fire of the Hive exploding completely apart diminished almost instantly, the debris and the force of flying parts, of an entire ship that housed a fleet of aliens blowing outwards, filled the emptiness of space with jutting, sharp, unforgiving obstacles.  Peter had to jerk the controls to dodge a particularly fast moving piece of what appeared to be a bulkhead.  

“ _ Whaaat _ the hell--?” 

“ _ He did it! _ ” Drax whooped.  “ _ The metal man did it! _ ” 

Rocket sneered.  “What are you talkin’ about?”

Gamora stood suddenly from her seat, straps falling aside, and she crowded over to the windshield, eyes wide.  Pressing a palm to the glass, her breath caught. 

“Look,” she muttered.  “Peter, look.” 

He did.  And when he saw the Chitauri, floating and listless against the black expanse of space, he slumped back in his seat. 

“They destroyed the Hive,” Peter said, dumb with relief.  “They stopped the army.” 

Rocket’s ears perked, twitching, and then he threw his paws in the air.  “Hear that, dipshits?” he broadcasted out, to the Ravagers, to the Nova.  “We won!” 

And around them, the stars erupted into cheers. 

* * *

T’Challa faltered, breath heavy and suit torn in a wide gash across his chest, when the Chitauri before him swooned to the ground.  His claws were still out, teeth still on edge, blood still souring his mouth. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and he whirled.  Okoye barely sidestepped his outlash, her own breath ragged, a hand pressed to the red blossoming over her abdomen, but she squeezed at his shoulder and looked to the field around them.  To the invading army’s bodies, slumping to the earth. 

“Brother,” Shuri called to him, weapons dropping as she came to his side, smile blinding.  “Brother, it is done.  It is finished.” 

He slowly, carefully, freed himself of the Black Panther mask.  She took his face between her hands and kissed his cheeks. 

“It is done,” she said again. 

Around them, what remained of them lifted their weapons to the sky and thundered their triumph.  The sky itself echoed back, the shield that had been holding, splitting apart and fading into nothing. 

Stumbling forward, T’Challa pressed his forehead to his sister’s and laughed. 

* * *

“It’s over, Strange.” Wong said as Stephen collapsed back, fingers trembling, blood running fresh down from his nose.  “It’s over.” 

Stephen nodded, blind, and he clutched the Eye around his neck with quivering hands.  “It’s over.  We won.” 

* * *

Peter flinched back as the Leviathan came crashing down in front of him and Jessica.  He held up a hand, turning away as its body slammed into the street, goggles flaring out wide when he looked back to survey the wreckage.

“Holy--” 

The Hulk’s loud roar cut him off as the green behemoth jumped down from the back of the downed Leviathan, pounding his fists into the asphalt with another guttural shout.  Like he’d brought the Chitauri falling out of the sky one by one down himself.

At Peter’s side, Jessica raised a brow.  “Friend of yours?” 

“Uh,” Peter swallowed thick.  “Something like that.” 

Hulk snapped a look their way, snorting gruffly.  When Peter waved, meak and hesitant as it was, the Hulk bared his teeth in a grin and launched himself away.

“Should we follow him?” Jessica asked. 

“Nah,” Peter’s voice cracked, and he’d be lying if he said his legs didn’t go a little wobbly as the Hulk sped away from them.  “I mean, no.  No, he’ll be-- I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

Jessica shrugged, padding over to one of the downed Chitauri and giving it a good kick.  “This is good, right?  Fight’s over.  You and your team of super pals saved the day?” 

“I think so,” Peter stumbled to follow after her as she paced toward the Leviathan lying dead at the center of the street, chest puffing up a bit.  “I can always, you know, check with the-- with  _ my _ team.  The Avengers, I mean.” 

Humming, Jessica put a hand to her brow and squinted upward to where the green haze of crossing lines had faded back to reveal the blue above.  “Whatever floats your tights, el luchador.” 

Peter sputtered but went for his comms anyway.  “Widow, what’s--” 

“ _ It’s not over _ ,” Natasha’s voice came, harsh and rasping.  “ _ It’s not--”  _

* * *

“--over.” 

Natasha’s hands shook as Rhodey propped her against the ruins of a police car.  She had to give him credit for dressing her wound through the buffering of harsh metal fingers.  Hissing, she flinched away as he pressed down hard. 

Next to them, Thor touched down, hammer in a white-knuckle grip.  He knelt down, moving Rhodey’s hands aside when he saw how pale the Colonel’s face had gone, helmet discarded aside. 

“What has happened?” Thor asked, voice low. 

“Tell him,” Natasha gestured to Thor with a swing of her chin.  “Tell him, Rhodes.” 

“FRIDAY,” Rhodey croaked, collapsing back in the suit.  “She-- The coordinates for Tony’s suit.  She sent-- She said Thanos wasn’t on the ship when it blew.” 

“And Anthony?” Thor’s brow drew down.  “And my brother?” 

“Don’t know about Loki,” Rhodey shook his head.  “She just gave me Tony’s-- Tony followed Thanos.” 

“Where?” 

“Here.  Earth.  The coordinates--” 

“ _ You will not make it in time _ .” FRIDAY’s voice broadcasted suddenly with a crackle over the comms, heavy with something none of them could name.  “ _ None of you will make it in time _ .” 

“Before what?” Natasha snapped into her earpiece; Thor looked fives seconds away from taking flight again.  “Before Thanos wins?” 

FRIDAY went very quiet.  Then:

_ “Before Boss does. _ ” 

* * *

“Falcon, report.” 

Steve grunted as he hefted a slab of concrete up, straining, face twisting up.  Beneath the unstable , half-collapsed wall, a man and his child cowered. 

Gesturing with a jerk of his head, Steve urged them out.  “Go.  Go, it’s safe.” 

“ _ Nothing yet, Cap _ .”  Sam replied.  “ _ Clint’s splinted up.  On rescue and evac, now _ .” 

After the civilians had scurried out, Steve dropped the slab down with a hefty sigh.  “Keep looking, but focus on search and rescue.  There’s a lot of people hurt.” 

Over the comms, Clint snorted.  “ _ No shit _ .” 

The scolding was right on the tip of Steve’s tongue, habit or for old time’s sake was unclear, but he choked on it when Bucky’s voice cut in.

“ _ I got eyes on Vision and Scarlet Witch _ .” 

Steve’s shoulders went lax.  “Oh, thank god.” 

“ _ I’m on the building across from your location.  They’re about half a block down,”  _ Bucky added.  “ _ You’ll spot ‘em easy.  Wanda’s clearing out the road. _ ” 

Bucky was right.  When Steve got out of the building he’d been searching through, jogging around the rubble, he easily found the bright red flare of Wanda’s magic. 

Relief filled him, pace hitching just that faster despite the exhaustion and blood and soot weighing him down.  He called out, caught Wanda’s anxious smile and Vision’s easing posture in reply.  His blood sang, the sight of them safe and the collapsed Leviathan behind them easing some of the knots that had twisted to tight in his stomach.  Eased some of the dread in his chest. 

That was when it happened. 

The ground shook.  The air hummed.  The muscles in Steve’s shoulders and neck bunched before he could understand why. 

Then he was off of his feet, knocked back by a force to fast, so  _ strong _ , that it sent him colliding back into one of the buildings that already stood in shambles.  

First, there was a miasma of purple.  After, there was nothing. 

* * *

Bucky saw the crackling haze of purple before he saw the threat.  Whatever support the building he was on had was gone in an instant, and he lost sight of Steve and Wanda and Vision as he went tumbling, landing harsh against the vibranium reinforcements of his shoulder with a low groan. 

When he pushed up, the earth itself seemed to be burning with the violet,  _ violent _ energy.  Bucky scrambled, taking shelter behind the exposed brick of a wall segment before the haze bellowed out, a cloud of dark energy that threatened to consume everything around it. 

His ears popped when it cleared out suddenly and sharply as it began, snapping back into a single point like a clap of lightning.  Bucky took the risk to peer around the corner, eyes widening as he caught sight of Wanda. 

She was on her knees, fingers contorting, red caging in the vibrating energy still threatening to overwhelm them all with all that she had within her.  Sprawled behind her, Vision lay, eyes closed and Stone dim.  At the center, a man towered in gold, armor beaten and scored and scorched, mouth green with what must’ve been blood, gauntlet held out.

“Well done, girl.” His voice boomed, mocking and so oily it made Bucky force down a shudder.  “You’re strong.” 

Wanda staggered, trying to push to her feet as Bucky leveled his rifle.  “You will  _ not _ have him,” she spat. 

“You’re strong, girl.” Thanos smiled, wicked with intent, and Bucky exhaled slow.  “I’m stronger.” 

He pulled his hand free of her web of magic, swinging his fist across her face and sending her tumbling over the rubble.  Bucky pulled the trigger a second too late; whatever Thanos was wielding, it repelled the round.

Beneath Thanos’ feet, the ground buckled in further, and as he curled his hands into fists, the world was overtaken in dark, swirling energy once more. 

* * *

They hit the ground hard. 

Tony shielded Nebula’s body as well as he could.  His ears were still ringing. 

But he didn’t have time for that.  Not with Loki discarded and Thanos walking away.  Not with the air already crackling in his wake. 

On his knees, Tony panted.  He pushed up and then collapsed. 

A cold hand touched the back of his neck.  He seized, eyes flying up wide, but Nebula met his gaze with one as pitch as night.  She wound an arm under his, tugging him up and onto his feet by the waist.  They braced against each other when, only a few hundred feet from them, Thanos unleashed the energy of the Power Stone.

“Help me,” Tony asked, eyes never leaving the churning swirl of color and smoke. 

Nebula regarded him, her jaw back in place, eyes an assessing abyss.  “Your arm--” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony finally looked to her.  “Help me.” 

She hesitated.  Then nodded, once, firmly.  He stumbled along next to her as she guided him toward Thanos. 

“You will fail,” she said over the roar of sound, as they drew nearer and nearer.  

“I have a secret weapon,” Tony promised, tapping a bloody finger to the bright glow in his chest, smudging the glass. 

“You will die.” 

“Probably,” Tony shrugged out of her hold as they reached the edges of the vortex.  “Tell your sister she was right about you not being awful.  And that I’m glad I didn’t shoot you on sight.  Or something.” 

Nebula blinked.  “Your sentiments are strange last words.” 

“Well,” Tony let out a tight breath.  “I’m about to die.  So who gives a fuck?” 

And then he stepped in, stepped forward, and the only thing he found was pain.  It pulled at him, pushed at him; it burned whatever it could touch, and it touched every part of him. 

Tony had never been a man of faith.  Science and facts always held true to him.  But there, then, he prayed.  Prayed to anyone that would listen, to anything, and he screamed, hoping against all things, that the comm unit would broadcast enough for Steve to catch it.  For Steve to be close by.  For Steve to keep his promise.  

When he finally made it through, Thanos was standing there with Vision’s body at his feet, the Mind Stone already nestled in next to the Power Stone.  Rage welled in him, and Tony yelled over the noise until Thanos turned to him.  

“What’s up, dumbass?” Tony called, and Thanos laughed as the haze around them began to settle back down into the dust.  “Remember me?” 

In his chest, he felt something warm.  Felt something begin to burn, icy and agonizing across his skin and down into the bone as he wrangled the suit to detonate-- just like Loki showed him, giving over to the Space Stone still hiding in his chest-- and it began to glow.  Brighter and brighter and brighter still. 

“You think you can take me,  _ boy _ ?” 

Baring his teeth into a smile, Tony welcomed the gloved hand around his neck, locking his own fingers around as he shook apart.  Smiled as the Orion’s powered cut down to a singularity.  

“No,” Tony said, suddenly so sure, so positive of the outcome, so  _ knowing _ of the raw  _ power _ building up in his chest, that something like peace unfurled beyond the ragged, clawing pain that suffused him.  “I think I can end you.” 

He gave into it then.  Let the suit power what it was always meant to.  Let impossible, improbable, inevitable forces swell up and swallow them both; let it consume him and rip him to pieces. 

The look on Thanos’ face was  _ so _ worth it. 


	25. Chapter 24: When It's Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LONG WAIT HAS ENDED. THE YEAR AND TWO MONTH LONG EVENT IS OVER. THANKS SO MUCH TO THOSE OF YOU WHO STUCK THIS OUT. 
> 
> EVERYTHING IS TIED UP. THANOS IS DEFEATED. THE WORLD IS A HAPPIER PLACE. 
> 
> This is not to say that everything is A PLUS between everyone, but it's... better. 
> 
> LOOK FOR A FUN SEQUEL SOMETIME WAY WAY DOWN THE ROAD. PROBABLY.

By the time the ringing in his ears had settled and Steve had loosened his grip, Bucky had stopped fighting.  By the time Wanda had shaken herself off and struggled to her hands and knees, tears falling fresh down her face as she crawled to Vision’s lifeless form, Bucky was staring, dead eyed, at where Tony and Thanos had last been. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve rasped again, and Bucky’s jaw ticked tight as he shoved out of his arms.

“ _ Fuck _ your sorry,” he snapped, the numbness in his chest suddenly and violently overwhelmed with heat; with rage.  “ _ Fuck you _ , Stevie.” 

“I promised him-- I promised.” Steve shook his head, reaching for Bucky, but he winced back as their comms crackled, as Wanda wept over Vision cradled against her chest. 

“ _ \--the hell is going on! _ ” Sam’s voice broke through, and Steve pressed a shaking hand to his ear.  “ _ Cap _ ?”

“ _ FRIDAY said something about Thanos touching down. Where the hell are you guys _ ?” Clint asked.

“Thanos is gone,” Steve croaked, leveraging himself up on rubble as Bucky shoved to his feet, staggering forward a step toward the crater before faltering, eyes still locked on the spot where Tony had been.  “Tony-- Thanos is gone.  We won.” 

There was a pause.  For a moment, the only sound was Wanda’s sobs and the distant cries and the distant sirens and their own thundering hearts.  

“ _ How is Thanos  _ gone _? _ ” 

“Tony--” Steve faltered, then swallowed, and pressed on.  “Before the fight, Tony gave me the schematics for the Orion.  He housed the Tesseract-- the Space Stone-- in a secondary compartment, used it to power the suit.  He used it to-- He triggered it to detonate the suit and take out him and anyone in contact with it as a final protection protocol.” 

Bucky fell to one knee, breath leaving him sharply.

He recalled, briefly, a vague conversation between Tony and Loki only a week or two before.  Remembered how Tony had danced around Loki’s questions, hinting obliquely at the first Chitauri attack and how he’d hoped--

Movement caught his eye on the other side of the crater.  He spotted two figures through the settling dust, one he didn’t recognize, and one he definitely did.  

He was on his feet before he’d even thought it through.  Muscles working against the blanket of  _ numb _ that had hung itself heavy over his head.  He heard Steve call for him, but he was already halfway across the footprint of destruction, catching Loki by the tatters of his armor and bringing his fist across his cheek.  Loki didn’t fight it; he waved away the woman’s concern at his side, lips pressed in a thin line.  

“You knew,” he shook Loki, hard, until Loki had to grip at Bucky’s wrist with both hands.  “ _ You knew _ .” 

“Yes,” Loki said, voice low and rough and eyes dimmer than Bucky had ever seen them.  “I helped him plan it.”

Lip curling up into a snarl, Bucky jerked him forward, practically dragging him through the dirt to get at the center of the crater.  Steve was there, at Wanda’s side, watching them with wide eyes as Bucky threw Loki down.  

“You’ll bring him back,” Bucky spat.  “Magic, pseudoscience bullshit,  _ I don’t care _ \-- you bring him back.” 

It seemed to bring some of the fire back into Loki’s face because he spun to his feet, hands shaking, to sneer down at Bucky.  “You  _ daft _ idiot!  Even if I  _ could _ , it would risk everything he sacrificed himself  _ for _ .  If I even knew where the Stone sent them,  _ if _ it sent them anywhere, bringing Stark back would risk unraveling everything.”

“Un _ fucking _ ravel it, then!” 

“It would be more likely I brought Thanos back than Stark!” Loki’s voice rose over Bucky’s own.  “Even if I  _ could _ , it would not come without price.  It would likely bring the Titan bumbling right after him.  And then his sacrifice would mean  _ nothing _ \--” 

The loud  _ crack _ of sound and the  _ burst _ of pressure that followed sent them flying to the edges of the crater.  Bucky went sprawling back near Loki, with Steve at Wanda’s side adjacent from them.  

For a moment, blinded by light, Bucky scrambled for a weapon.  His teeth on edge, he drew and aimed, finger on the trigger and a hairsbreadth from pulling.  Loki smacked it down, and it was only his wide eyed, slack jawed look that kept Bucky from bringing the butt of the pistol across his temple.  In the next moment, he understood why. 

Because at the center, right where Tony had evaporated from existence, the Orion towered, seeming to be burning from within with light, and on Tony’s right hand, the Infinity Gauntlet rested with three gems shining from it.  The fourth remained at the center of the Orion’s chest, glowing brighter than all of them.  

In front of him, Vision hovered, toes barely brushing the earth, eyes still closed and Mind Stone still absent from between them.  

“Tony,” Bucky heard Steve whisper, and when Tony looked at them, he understood the stricken looks on both Steve and Wanda’s faces.

Even at this angle, Bucky could see that the usual brown of Tony’s eyes were gone.  In their place was an abyss of black, speckled with a swirling nebula that seemed to reach beyond anything Bucky could fathom with a single glance.  

But Tony smiled, lopsided and sure, and he turned his focus inward.  

They watched for as long as they could, until the light became too much, as the amber glow of the Mind Stone came free of the gauntlet.  Watched as it drifted upward.  Watched as it settled itself back between Vision’s eyes, finding home on his forehead, right where it belonged.  Watched as light flared up and they had to look away, only peering back once the light had dimmed back down.  

When they looked back, Vision’s eyes were open and he was smiling gently at Tony.  Smiling and reaching for him, placing a palm over his chest and wrapping the other around his wrist. 

“It’s alright, Sir.” Vision said, and Bucky saw Tony shudder.  “It’s alright.  You can rest, now.” 

Vision helped pull the gauntlet free, helped pull the Stone from the center of the suit, and caught Tony in his arms.

“You’ve done well,” Bucky heard Vision mutter again.  “You can rest.” 

* * *

_ Three Weeks Later… _

* * *

“ _ Miss Potts, what has Mr. Stark said in regards to his nomination for--”  _

_“Please, reserve your questions about the New Accords for after the release next week.  Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers have their hands full working with the International and Intergalactic Joint Crisis Reparation Force_ _on clean-up to bother with questions like that._ ” Pepper shut the reporter down, looking ready to kill, standing at the podium in a white suit, fingers laced impatiently in front of her.  “ _Next_.” 

“ _ How is Mr. Stark?  There were reports of severe trauma _ .   _ He was only recently released from medical, is that correct? _ ” 

“ _ It is _ ,” Pepper conceded with a nod.  “ _ Mr. Stark is on the mend, housed in the Compound with the rest of the Avengers and their allies when not working on repairs.  He’s well enough to sign whatever I put in front of him, but he won’t be putting an Iron Man suit on anytime soon, if that answers your inquiry.  Next-- _ ” 

“FRI, that’s enough.” Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as FRIDAY turned the broadcast off, and he braced against the edge of the sink.

It had been a long couple of days since Tony had roused from bed with his faculties about him enough to make an escape from the sterile rooms of the care unit set aside on the Compound property in the wake of the invasion.  Most of his waking time in the medical wing had been spent talking with Fury, Thor, and Dr. Stephen Strange in all new digs since Tony had last seen him and even better facial hair.  When it wasn’t spent recounting the events leading up to Thanos’ destruction, it was spent being monitored by Dr. Strange and Dr. Helen Cho to make sure his body was mending properly with the help of the Cradle and a few, unwelcome twists of magic. 

Honestly, it had been a miracle that Tony hadn’t stuck himself back together inside out when he’d wrested the gauntlet onto his own hand and the Stones had lead him back to the point of complete particle separation.  

He tried not to think about it too much. 

He’d gotten out as quickly as he could, swallowing down the bitter pill that was waiting, and the second he was free of white, white walls, he was at work.  Organizing relief funds and parties, working in tandem with the Joint Crisis Force that had sprung up in the brief time he’d spent comatose and unresponsive on a hospital cot and pushing the Avengers out wide to lead relief efforts worldwide.  

The wild part was, while shaken and maybe a bit broken, the world was fixing itself.  Working together to clear the destruction.  

The wild part was that they’d succeeded. 

A soft knocking brought Tony out of his haze, and he glanced up in the mirror, offering a tight smile to Quill as he opened up the bathroom door.  “Peter.  Come in.”

He didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes darted over the scarring, like silver and lightning, that webbed over his chest and down his right arm.  Tony shrugged on his shirt quickly, clearing his throat and turning to face him. 

“The peanut gallery is gettin’ a little rowdy,” Peter offered, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants.  “Figured I’d come get you before Gamora or Barnes made good on their threats to collect you themselves.” 

“Thanks,” Tony huffed, smile a bit tired and a bit crooked.  “I appreciate it.  Shall we?” 

Tony brushed by, heading for the door that lead out of his bedroom and into the main suite.  The Guardians were departing today, along with the last of the Nova, and Tony had to see them off with the rest of the Avengers currently present at the Compound.  

On his way by, Peter caught his elbow in a careful grip, smile tight.  Tony faltered, blinking up at him. 

“I wanted to, uh… ask you something.  On Rocket and Groot’s behalf, a’course.” Peter cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.  “Before we got out there in front of everybody else.”

Tony twisted to face him.  “What is it?”

“They wanted to extend an invitation,” Peter shrugged.  “ _ We _ wanted to extend on invitation.  To come with us.” 

Tony’s brows flew up.  “Pardon?” 

“It’s not a-- I mean, you don’t gotta come with us  _ now _ .  It’s sort of an… open invite.  You can contact us,” Peter muttered, passing over something into Tony’s open hand.  “Anytime.  We’d be happy to have you as part of the crew.  Even if only for a little while.” 

Tony blinked down at the little comm unit resting in his open palm.  He turned it over between his fingers, swallowing once, feeling his skin tighten over his chest when he took a deep breath. 

“I don’t know how good of an idea that would be,” Tony said, looking back up at him.  “But thank you for the offer.” 

Peter grinned, slinging his arm around Tony’s shoulders and drawing him toward the door.  “It’s a great idea, Stark.  You’d fit right in.” 

Before Tony could protest, Peter was tugging the collar of his henley down, revealing a webbing of scars similar to Tony’s own.  Tony blinked at them and then up at Peter’s face. 

“What you did…” Peter huffed out through his nose.  “It wasn’t easy.  And we’re all grateful.  And us Guardians?  We’ve been there.  You ever change your mind about exploring the galaxy, or… hell, even if you just wanna talk about the after effects of… well,  _ this _ , we’re just a measly comm call away.” 

Tony lifted a dry brow, rather than comment on Peter’s implication of the knowledge he might have of Tony’s tremors and phantom pains, he waggled the comm unit.  “This thing gets a signal all the way across the galaxy?” 

Peter beamed.  “Rocket made it special.” 

“Rocket is a  _ strange _ little rodent.” 

“Yeah,” Peter shrugged, pushing the door to Tony’s suite open so that they could make their way toward the commons.  “But he’s kinda  _ our _ strange little rodent, so…” 

“Thank you, Star-Lord.” Tony said, tucking the unit away into the pocket of his slacks.  “I’ll think about it.” 

Something bright shined in Peter’s eyes.  “I’m sure you will.” 

* * *

The great majority of the Avengers were either on relief missions or off-planet.  Thor had gone back with Loki-- the gauntlet and the Space Stone in the cases Tony had specially designed and that T’Challa had constructed with the required vibranium in Tony’s absence-- to Asgard.  Bruce was somewhere in South America with Natasha, playing doctor for whoever might need it.  Somewhere in the midwest, Clint and his family had set up a small camp for anyone who needed a home during reparations on their ranch.  

Even Rhodes and Sam were called away, taking the call the military put out, to help with cleanup in the Middle East and Europe.   Wanda had stayed close, going back and forth between Manhattan and the Compound, using her powers to help remove rubble and bodies from the streets; sometimes Vision accompanied her, when he wasn’t busy hovering around the Compound.  

Scott had gone with Hope van Dyne-- when she’d called-- to Tokyo.  

The only ones at the Compound fulltime the week that the Guardians were set to leave, were Bucky and Steve and Tony.  Not counting the constant buzzing, flitting, incessant shuffling of Task Force and JCF and unearthed SHIELD operatives in and out of the building’s professional sectors.  

It had been rough, right after Tony had appeared back with the Infinity Gauntlet.  Bucky had been so relieved he’d nearly forgotten to be angry, and yet no amount of time put between him and the crater Tony had left behind as he'd vanished made it sting less.  In the weeks that followed, Bucky had come to realise that one of the few weaknesses he held had been twisted against him.  Steve had lied, and cause or no, the memory still twinged when Bucky thought on it. 

_ Too much heart _ , he'd once been told, half sheltered in a fox hole so very far from home; a sentiment he'd not yet been able to break away from. 

The soft fall of boots against the floor caught Bucky’s attention, glancing towards the sound to find Steve moving towards him, falling into place by Bucky’s side. Silence stretched between them for a long moment, broken only by the muffled sounds of Quill and Stark speaking, unintelligible from within the glass corridor they walked in just outside of the room, heading for the door that lead out to where the Milano and the last Nova ship wait. 

“I'll be sad to see the Guardians go.” Bucky said, almost idle as he broke their quiet, offering Steve a sidelong glance. 

“I get the feeling they'll be back in time.” Steve replied, shifting tensely where he stood. “Buck, I know you--”

“Save it,” Bucky interrupted. “I know what you're going to say.”

“I lied to you. You asked me what was going on and I lied to you.” Steve said, expression pinching up. 

Bucky huffed out a sound, tension bleeding from his stance as he turned to Steve. 

“You did,” he said, a trace amount of accusation in his words. “But I can't say I wouldn't have done the same, if he'd asked me.  If that's what was at stake.”

Steve faltered, moving in those few inches closer. “He knew you'd stop him, if you knew.  He trusted me with that, as awful as it was.  Tony knew I wouldn't stop him from doing what he needed to.”

Bucky nodded slowly, letting their conversation lull again before he spoke. “I'm glad it was you. I would have kicked his ass into next week for just suggesting it.”

Steve's lips twitched up in amusement, matching the quiet chuckle Bucky stifled, laying a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently as he made to pull away.  “Pretty sure that's why no one told you, Buck. Come on, Guardians’ll be leaving soon.  We don't want to miss goodbye.”

They made their way outside from the common area, gathering around where the Guardians stood waiting with two added to their number.  The woman that Bucky had seen on the field with Loki, Nebula, stood off to the side with her arms crossed, as though she had no want to be there.  They made it to where they stood just as Drax reeled Tony into a tight embrace that swept Tony off of his feet. 

Tony made a grunt of a sound, patting his back, but there was a wide smile on his face that contrasted with the exhaustion that lined his eyes.  Drax held on long enough for Rocket to roll his eyes and sneer up at them. 

“C’mon, man, we gotta get our asses air born.” 

“Man of Iron, it has been an honor to fight alongside you and your war brethren.” Drax said as he set Tony back down.  “We must do battle again, soon.” 

“Hopefully not too soon,” Tony pat his shoulder with a wry grin.  “Fly safe.  Don’t cause too much mayhem up there without me.” 

Rocket snorted.  “No promises.” 

Off to the side, Rhomann Dey cleared his throat.  “Mr. Stark.  If I may?” 

“Of course,” Tony stepped away, digging into his pocket, and presenting a small case without much preamble.  “The Power Stone.  Keep it safe.” 

When Tony had first separated the gauntlet and the Stones, Fury had nearly had an aneurysm.  Tony wouldn’t tell him why he did it, why he let the Space Stone go back with Thor and Loki, nor why he gave the Reality Stone to Strange to hide somewhere safe, but when Bucky had pressed after sneaking coffee into his hospital room one morning, Tony had quietly confessed that the temptation would have been far too great.  

That after feeling that power once, knowing what he could do with it, that he could shape reality even with the gauntlet unfinished, he wouldn’t have been able to resist.  

“It’s safer, this way.”  Tony had told him, looking pale and fragile in that medical bed, hands shaking while he sipped his coffee.  “And we have allies who will keep them safe if they’re ever needed again.” 

It made sense that he would pass the Power Stone back to the Nova for safekeeping now that Thanos was obliterated into a million tiny pieces.  

“We will,” Dey bowed his head and then stood aside, gesturing two of his crew forward.  “In repayment for your courage and kindness, we’d like to offer this to you.”

The crew members set down a large crate before him and Tony blinked down at his feet.  “Um.” 

“Uru,” Rhomann Dey said.  “One of the rarest metal ores in the universe.  Use it as you will and know that the Nova Corps and the people of Xandar are forever in Terra’s debt.  Call on us whenever you need.” 

“Thank you,” Tony reached out, taking his hand in a firm shake, and Bucky didn’t miss the stunned, awestruck way his face slackened when the Nova stepped back to salute him, one armed and hand fisted over their chests.  “Hopefully we’ll never have a need to call in that debt.” 

“Of course,” Rhomann smiled.  “Our delegate for the Xandarian system will be sent to you as soon as repairs are finished back in our home system.” 

“Looking forward to working with them,” Tony nodded.  

Without much preamble, the Nova took their leave, filing into the last ship as the Guardians lingered.  Tony turned to them, tapping his other pant pocket and winking. 

“I’ll call sometime,” he promised.  

“You better,” Rocket grunted, ears twitching as he crossed his arms, and from his shoulder, Groot grumbled.  

“I am Groot!” 

Tony snorted.  “Maybe next time, little guy.  Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to miss me later.” 

Groot perked up considerably, and it wasn’t lost on all remaining present that Tony had correctly interpreted the little plant’s mutterings.  

However, Peter turned his focus to the other Avengers, offering his hand to Steve first and then Bucky.  “It’s been fun.” 

“Fun?” Steve’s voice broke on a laugh.  

“Well, I’d like to say savin’ the universe is new for us, but…” 

“It’s not,” Rocket grinned, all canines.  “You’re just lucky I didn’t need the big guy’s arm for sumthin’.” 

“Rocket,  _ no _ .” Gamora hissed, nudging at him with her boot.  

“What?” he laughed.  “I’m just sayin’.” 

“Mantis?” Gamora rolled her eyes skyward. 

“Come, Rocket.” Mantis smiled, ushering him with Groot and Drax up the gangway.  “Let’s get the ship started.” 

Once they were gone, Gamora shook her head.  “ _ Children _ .” 

“You’ll certainly have your hands full,” Tony said. 

“Yes,” Gamora nodded, stepping up to him and taking his face between her hands in order to lay one, long kiss to his mouth.  “And with you as well, I’d imagine.  If you ever call.” 

“If,” Tony mumbled, a bit red in the face, and Peter laughed.  

“I guess we’re off, then.” Peter said.  “We’ll see you guys next time the world’s ending.” 

“ _ Next time _ , he says.” Steve huffed, leaning into Bucky’s side.

“Just when I think I'm old enough to retire, there's gonna be a next time.” Bucky grunted, the ire in his words betrayed by the glint in his eyes and the twitch of his lips. He let an arm settle at Steve's waist, an easy gesture, as he looked over their new found friends and allies. “No offence guys, but I'd rather see you later than sooner if you're bringing the next apocalypse with you.”

“Unless you wanna stop by some other time. Thanksgiving or something.” Steve offered with a little shrug. 

“Thanksgiving?” Gamora asked, tone sharp, but not without underlying curiosity. 

“Ask Quill about it when you lot get some free time. I'm sure he'll love to explain Earth customs.” Bucky interjected with a sharp grin, earning him a droll look and a groan from Peter. 

Gamora cast Peter a look, lips pursed, but smile hiding beneath it.  “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.” 

“Well,” Peter sighed.  “It’s been a laugh and a half.  Hate to say goodbye.  All that stuff.” 

“Goodbye, Peter.” Tony said, smile creasing at his eyes. 

The two of them departed up the ramp, and Nebula hesitated, nodding once in their direction before following after them.  Tony stepped back to Bucky and Steve’s sides as the ship closed with a  _ hiss _ .  As the engines revved up, launching them off of the landing pad, Tony shielded his eyes with an arm, wind whipping around them as both the Milano and the Nova Corps’ ship took flight. 

In one moment, they were there hovering, and in the next they were taking to the sky with a burst, leaving them standing outside of the Compound, watching them disappear into the distance.  With a soft sigh, Tony dropped his arm, tucking his hands into his pockets and rocking up onto his toes. 

“I think I might miss those idiots,” he said.

“They're good company.” Bucky agreed. ”Let's hope next time they don't bring a Titan.” 

Steve offered Tony a look, expression softer than it usually was, though becoming more and more frequent since Tony had returned to them in one piece. “I guess that just leaves us here together, then.” 

Tony hummed, turning to look at him.  “Together, huh?” 

Steve nodded, smile a bit tentative.  A bit hopeful. 

Bucky squeezed at his waist.

“Together,” Steve repeated.  “If you’ll let us stay after all of this, anyway.” 

“Together.” 

Tony tilted his head, expression pinching in a mockery of thoughtfulness for a moment that stretched out.  

“Yeah.  I think I might like the sound of that.” 


End file.
